Ever since the winter when you took flight,
I still see your shadow in the lamp light,
I still get the messages you ghost write,
But everything is quiet in the dark.
I didn't want the living that you sold me,
I didn't want to hear the things you told me,
It wasn't that you even meant it coldly,
It wasn't that you meant to leave a mark...
But if it makes you feel,
It must be good,
It must be good,
It must be something about the way,
It makes you feel,
It must be good,
It must be good,
It must be something about the way.
The papers you collected in a folder,
The worry that you carried on your shoulder,
You thought it made you look a little older,
Which only made me feel a little old...
Now every bit of silence is a promise,
If it wasn't I was trying to be modest,
I only thought that speaking was dishonest,
As we walked beneath the water in the cold.
But if it makes you feel,
It must be good,
It must be good,
It must be something about the way...
It makes you feel,
It must be good,
It must be good,
It must be something about the way...
It makes you feel,
Is any of this even real?
Is any of this real?
We're putting it down,
To something about the way...
It makes you feel,
Is any of this real?
Is any of this even real?
We're putting it down,
To something about the way.
The things you never wanted me to mention,
I promise you it wasn't my intention,
But silence is the mother of invention,
And I haven't heard a word from you since then.
The harbour that you're trying to embark to,
The cigarette you're trying to put a spark to,
I'm watching them develop in the dark room,
And wondering what to say to you again...