The guitar solo is played into a piano with the sustain pedal depressed. I don't know if you can tell. Also the cello on the recording was my grandmother's.
Melody's gone and harmony too. All that remains is the sound of the wind in the falling of the darkness.
You'll go to Brooklyn and I'll go to Wales and when we get back we'll write all our tales in a blog.
The whole damn town is dressed in a fog, the internet's down and you're rolling around in my head.
I want to live with you 'till our senior days. I've seen that our days get better with time
And I'll see you soon in the summer days. The sun is your face as it's pressed into mine.
I wake to a dawn that's covered in dew. All I can hear is the sound of your voice as dreams bleed to waking.
You sleep in Brooklyn as I wake in Wales and as the fog lifts I feel all of my failures anew
Where to go and what to do? Your Hamilton train left an hour ago and I'll wait for you here in the snow.
When I feel like bad things will happen before they do; when it's been so long since I've heard anything true, I look at you and I'm standing on the sunny side of a hill in my home town.