Take all my records, just leave me the sleeves. You can pull out their hearts and I'll take memories. Propellers are falling from the tops of the trees; Cutting through space, cutting through space, Cutting through space, they fall into place. From Leuven to Losan the feeling just grew, And it took on the shape of a bird that you drew. Then all the way home from Paris you said "People is place... people lose place... People is place... and I feel misplaced."