Tell Me.

The Lovers

Up from the pastures of boredom

out from the sea of discontent

they come in packs like hungry hounds

Up seekers of the dark enchantment.

They haunt the boulevards and bars

they pray to wishing wells and stars

they ride the hurricane of hope

not looking back but on they go

toward the distance and deceiving

and all the while they keep believing

they are special and apart

the lovers, the lovers of the heart... the lovers.

And when they pair off two by two

they feel they are the chosen few

and though their beds are made of straw

they feel like velvet in the night

and so the night is never ending

its made of distance and pretending

coz they're special and apart

the lovers, the lovers of the heart... the lovers.

And when love goes away

and when love goes...

goodbye...

catches in their throats like cotton

rises in their hearts like rain

the good times suddenly are all forgotten

the hunt begins again.

They search the subways and the streets

their faces tired, like their feet

their bodies aching to be warm

and so they hide behind the moon

their loneliness inside them growing

but they take comfort in just knowing

that they are special and apart

the lovers, the lovers of the heart... the lovers

And when love comes again

and when love comes

hello...

rises from their throats like singing

catches in their hearts like wind

the good things

strangers in their arms are bringing

makes life all right again.

They turn their faces to the light

no longer hiding in the night

so unashamed and unafraid

that they can face each others faults

and though the waltz will have its ending

there is no harm in just pretending

that they are special and apart

the lovers, the lovers of the heart... the lovers.