It started out with a kiss: perfect symmetrical bliss— a love on parallel lines, just like the day needs the night. (Is this the way it's sposed to be? The future can't be told.)
It's the signs that you miss, the lines you don't think exist, that make this thing seem so right— it's just a trick of the light. (Is this the way it's gonna be? The future's getting old.)
But I can't seem to stop you from doing those things always spinning in my head.
I'm so tired cos I'm always running . . . running's got me going in circles . . . circles they spin round in my head . . . head hurts cos I'm running in circles. Gotta get you outa my head— I need a substitute.
I always thought it would end— this thing of ours felt too right. We always needed to hide the shape of things in the night. (This ain't the way it's sposed to be— The picture's gone so cold.)
You never used to be wrong— you used me always that's right. The day's parade left me blind; your words they drift into night. (This ain't the way it's gonna be. The picture's getting old.)