Paris

It was seven 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 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

its down to you, you can shine, you can shake all the

sorrow from your palm.. its 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! theyre going out of....

oh! i can feel it moving, this time i'm really moving.

are you ready to come, come to joy well its really down to

you if you dare to enjoy... its down to you... hold the key

in your hands.. it's all in the palm of your hands