On The Walk From The Picturehouse

I put you on a pile with the books I'd never read and the films I'd never seen,

You are the fruit I'd never tasted; you are the parts of the word I've never been.

Your postcards are photoshopped, they're photocopied and handed around,

your trailer got me going now, the final cut it let me down.

On the walk from the picturehouse, through the lamp light lit dark,

the heavens they opened and I raced you, I raced you back to my car.

On the walk from the picturehouse.

People only nitpick, when the script is boring, On the walk from the picturehouse,

photographers out in the fog and vagabond dogs this morning.

Perception has a habit of changing, depending on your point of view,

as long as it looks real, you can sell it as the truth.

On the walk from the picturehouse, through the lamp light lit dark,

the heavens they opened and I raced you, I raced you back to my car.

On the walk from the picturehouse.

I know you couldn't care less, did you ever want more?

On the walk from the picturehouse, through the lamp light lit dark,

the heavens they opened and I raced you, I raced you back to my car.

On the walk from the picturehouse, through the lamp light lit dark,

the heavens they opened and I raced you, I raced you back to my car.

On the walk from the picturehouse.

On the walk from the picturehouse, through the lamp light lit dark,

photographers out in the fog, and I raced you back to my car.

I raced you back to my car.

I raced you back to my car.

I raced you back to my car.