Better Days
Sing, angel sing
The sky is clear
But your wings are suffering
And I have found
The Captain's left the crew
The Chef's run out of food
And as we fade away
I'll wish you better days
Love, woman life
Your part has changed
You're now a wife
You've lost your name
For 'Darling' & 'My Dear'
From Mister oh sincere
Your dreams & hopes they stay
But without better days
Time to go
While passion's running low
Fine by me
This time, this time
Look, at what we've done
Our love is war
Our hearts, the silent gun
So close & loud
Our homes are under siege
And open wounds still bleed
I cannot walk away
Without wishing you better days
Time to go
While passions are running low
Fine by me
This time, this time
The chain of gold is freed
Where nothing hangs
Are we deceived?
Or is it fair?
Content and debonair
To dance like Fred Astaire
To dream and hope and pray
To share in better days
I do not understand the way
You shut your hands in the bedroom closet
I do not find the funny side
Of hurling yourself down the stairs
I keep on thinking it must be me
Not to see that you were never happy
You just shut your mouth
And lie a little
And die some more
And pack your bags
And never leave
The sky is clear
But your wings are suffering
And I have found
The Captain's left the crew
The Chef's run out of food
And as we fade away
I'll wish you better days
Love, woman life
Your part has changed
You're now a wife
You've lost your name
For 'Darling' & 'My Dear'
From Mister oh sincere
Your dreams & hopes they stay
But without better days
Time to go
While passion's running low
Fine by me
This time, this time
Look, at what we've done
Our love is war
Our hearts, the silent gun
So close & loud
Our homes are under siege
And open wounds still bleed
I cannot walk away
Without wishing you better days
Time to go
While passions are running low
Fine by me
This time, this time
The chain of gold is freed
Where nothing hangs
Are we deceived?
Or is it fair?
Content and debonair
To dance like Fred Astaire
To dream and hope and pray
To share in better days
I do not understand the way
You shut your hands in the bedroom closet
I do not find the funny side
Of hurling yourself down the stairs
I keep on thinking it must be me
Not to see that you were never happy
You just shut your mouth
And lie a little
And die some more
And pack your bags
And never leave
Credits
Writer(s): Terrance Quaites, Michael Mosley, Thomas Anderson, Bryson Evans
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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