James Blunt
And so again the play begins,
The scribe again puts down the pen,
The actors all called forth within,
The curtain starts to spin.
He walks down from the mountain,
Over the hills, and past the fountain,
Hat in hand his is ampersand,
and loss is beautiful again.
The crowd wont wait,
They cheer, they gyrate,
So smiling he pulls the chord,
Letting loose the floodgate.
I feel...bittersweet, but that is not a bad thing.
So I can only smile as I search the web and find the ticket that I know will take me there.
The scribe again puts down the pen,
The actors all called forth within,
The curtain starts to spin.
He walks down from the mountain,
Over the hills, and past the fountain,
Hat in hand his is ampersand,
and loss is beautiful again.
The crowd wont wait,
They cheer, they gyrate,
So smiling he pulls the chord,
Letting loose the floodgate.
I feel...bittersweet, but that is not a bad thing.
So I can only smile as I search the web and find the ticket that I know will take me there.