england-keep-my-bones - 4:48
I was walking home to my house through the snow from the station,
When the Springsteen came clear in my headphones with a pertinent question:
Is love really real, and can any of us hope for redemption?
Or are we all merely biding our time down to lonely conclusions?
Darling let me take your hand as I talk you through this,
How loneliness edged into deep-seated psychosis,
Lying awake in crowded hotel rooms, focused on tape hiss,
With my feelings laid clear on the ceiling,
I don't think I can do this.

I tried so hard to not turn into my father,
But if I only ever skip all his choices will I ever choose better?
The sad truth is that the grass, it will always seem greener,
So I left you alone in a restaurant in London in winter.
You deserved better.

Adam TraskĀ is on my back and in my ears,
And the sound comes clear and brings the awful truth
That I can't stand what I've done to you.
And it's written clear in my diary:
Today should have been our anniversary.
And I'm far way and I'm far apart,
And you're back home with a broken heart,
And love is real and I can't escape,
I only ever have myself to blame.

These failures shift and shake me in the night,
Like a fever I can't break try as I might.
Wake me darling, I need you take me home.
But I know in the end redemption is mine, and mine alone.

So if each of us is made up of a tally of mistakes and successes,
Then my hour in that restaurant makes my score less than impressive.
But each can be redeemed with the courage with which he confesses.
So darling I miss you, your music and your musk and your kisses.
I don't think I can do this.

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