He stands alone at the window, one hand on his head
The other in his jeans pocket
He has the world in view but cloudy eyes
give him the idea that he's lost it
The wind blows and he thinks it's rain
pulls the shutters closed and finds his way to bed
Dreaming in technicolor flashes of light
A battle of righteous existence in his head
Warm skin is comfort and cold nights are home
matching the beat of another lonely heart
their breaths fall in tune to the tapping of the leaves
drifting from the trees as the season falls apart
The radio plays a slow song, one we all know
but rememberence is a painful past time
Put the car in drive and leave this lonely place
again he swears it's the last time.
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