As you burn a hole in my back
Through my chequered, red lumberjack shirt
Through my black t-shirt to my skin
I can't help but wish that Hitchcock
Would appear and tell us to walk back
So we can shoot the scene again
But it's in your eyes
I see that you are breaking
It's in your eyes
And it cuts me to the bone
If we only could pretend
That this was Hollywood and when
The tears begin that someone would shout cut
Maybe in the second take
We could retrace our steps and make amends
Before the camera lenses shut
But I have to turn away. I have to give it up
'Cause this is real life. It isn't cinema
And nobody can twist this plot
Not even Hitchcock
This, the hardest year of twenty-one
The hardest thing I've ever done
To watch you leaving through the trees
As your leather boots begin to pass
Along the path between the grass
I wish the frame you're in would freeze
But it's with my eyes
I see it in slow motion
It's in my eyes
And it cuts you to the bone
If we only could pretend
That this was Hollywood and when
The credits roll our tears come to an end
All the people watching cry
'Cause they have witnessed romance die
But you and I, we'd know it's just pretend
But I have to turn away. I have to give it up
'Cause this is real life. It isn't cinema
And nobody can twist this plot
Not even Hitchcock