Take all my records, just leave me the sleeves. You can pull out their hearts and I'll take memories. Propellers are falling from the tops of the trees; cutting through space, cutting through space, cutting through space, they fall into place.
From Leuven to Losan the feeling just grew, and it took on the shape of a bird that you drew. Then all the way home from Paris you said \"People is place... people lose place... people is place... and I feel misplaced.\"