words and music by wendy o’ sunshyne
little hearts made of glass
sitting on the window pane
a gust of fate sweeps them up
and knocks them down, upon the ground
but each little shard, they grow anew
healing with time, it’s just what they do
chorus:
oh, this love, it’s not a game
it’s not a cure for loneliness.
oh, this love is a little insane.
but i don’t mind, i must confess.
we never do what we say,
we only say what we should do.
only we two can bring it together
make it all better, ‘cuz that’s what we do.
hands of time keep ticking by,
marching endlessly on little feet.
you feel its weight upon your skin,
it holds you down, you take it in.
but the passing of time, can’t be defined,
it’s arbitrary, but it’s just what we do.
chorus
words and letters come together.
sounds abound where syllables meet.
don’t forget the punctuation
and our delusions that add to confusion.
the simplest of phrases leave our tongues tied in cages
masking intention, it’s just what we do.
chorus