Paris

It was 7 in the morning when the spark began to give
The bath was spilling over, my self pity spilling with it
So I, I fled the country to start it all again
And found myself in Paris in the cemetery rain

Dear Anne came to me and took me by the arm
Showed me old disasters embedded in the palm
Warned me of a lady with the sun behind her head
With a granite neck, a singer, who can never sing again
But you, my love:

You must come, come to joy, turn your head to the sun
It’s down to you, you can shine, you can shake all the
Sorrow from your palm…
It’s down to you, if you dare to come to joy

What was it I ran from, what burnt away inside?
Four hundred schoolboys and a lawyer at my side
Always running with these legs going nowhere
A ghost in the system, and angel on the stairs…
But oh! This time…

I shall turn, turn my head to the sun
They are marching out of me, one by one
Walking free. Oh! They’re going out of…
Oh! I can feel it moving, this time I’m really moving

Are you ready to come, come to joy?
Well it’s really down to you
If you dare to enjoy, it’s down to
You hold the key
In your hands, it’s all in the palm of your hands