In days of peace sweet smelling summer nights of wine and song; dusty pavements burning feet. Why am I crying, I want to know. How can I smile and make it right? For sixty days and eighty nights and not give in and lose the fight.
I'm going back to the ones that I know, with whom I can be what I want to be. Just one week for the feeling to go -- and with you there to help me then it probably will.
I won't go down acting the same old play. Give sixty days for just one night. Don't think I'd make it: but then I might.
I'm going back to the ones that I know, with whom I can be what I want to be. Just one week for the feeling to go and with you there to help me then it probably will.