Hanging on for someone is quite addictive
When you gaze from high-rise windows
At the lights beyond the ring road and the social club
One girl’s perfection is another’s expectation
And the pureness of a moment always overstays its welcome
If I linger too long
I’m romantic by design
I see joy within the syntax of a shop sign
Or a bus stop conversation in a west country town
I feel overwhelmed sometimes by all the rational types
Who just dismiss coincidence and instinct and perception
As a trick of the mind
It’s always fleeting, like snapshots or flashbacks and
Unwritten endings and the promises wrapped up inside
And I’m all potential, and potential is the spark behind my eyes
Behind my eyes
I’m forensic by design
I’m the sort who sees a magic trick
Then kills himself to find out how it’s done
And then I’m always let down
I’m all details and facts
How can I sleep when there’s comparisons and speculation,
Talking heads, deliberations haunting me
Fleeting moments are insomnia for the curious and
Untied endings are the curse of inquisitive minds
And so what’s potential,
When potential might be all you ever know?
I don’t know
Oh the summer, it drags its heels
And then for every fleeting moment
There’s a fortnight left to wonder if it happened at all…
