eyes that burn so bright they make me pure

Your sweet young skin was shining then too...

On a day so gray it's black inside, watching churches on TV.

In a coma you don't dream, you just hope that someone sits with you.

... like the sky on summer days, before you turn and walk away.

It has changed you.

I close the door and I rest my head on the tile floor, sickness and sleep turning me cold.

And I'm still not sure,

is there is some better place I could be heading towards,

where the selfishly sick and self-absorbed are welcome?

where they understand the weight of human hearts.

You see sorrow gets too heavy and joy it tends to hold you with the fear that it eventually departs.

And the truth is I've been dreaming of some tired, tranquil place

where the weather won't get trapped inside my bones.

And if all these years of searching find one sympathetic face then it's there

I'll plant these seeds and make my home.

I dreamt of a fever, one that would cure me of this cold winter-set heart.

With heat to melt these frozen tears, burned with reasons as to carry on.

Into these twisted months I plunge without a light to follow,

but I swear that I would follow anything, just get me out of here.

And I scream for the sunlight, or a car to take me anywhere.

Just get me past this dead and eternal snow.

Cause I swear that I'm dying, slowly but it's happening,

and if the perfect spring is waiting somewhere,

just take me there, just take me there, just take me there.

Bright Eyes

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