In my heart of hearts I wish that you had never come
So you would always be on your way
The sun is going somewhere but I will be sitting here
With my green headphones on rediscovering « Low »
What did I do last Sunday?
I was singing
What will I do next Sunday?
I'll be singing
With the nightingale
Until I lose my voice
Homesick and exhausted though I'm only halfway gone
For some odd reason these things never really change
A northbound train and winter is already drawing near
In a few weeks Stockholm will be buried in snow
