Thousand Maps - Thousand Maps | Текст песни

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• Thousand Maps
• Thousand Maps

He’s peeling back the curtains and yearning for the time
Of green lawns and civility, where the check-out girls still smile
He scoffs and tuts at claims and such that society’s on the rise
And thinks instead romance is dead, never looks beyond the lines
The poet’s bed is cold, a trace of opium and lies
Craving the taste of a love they’ll never find
He craves the taste of a love he’ll never find

Cigarette smoke a tasteless joke, and a touch that lasts too long
He takes a chance, misreads her glance, despises every song
And he scours the place for another face with the same thoughts in their mind
But takes his words left unheard, and spits them to the night
And falls into the street where a thousand others cried
Craving the taste of a love they’ll never find
He craves the taste of a love he’ll never find

A thousand maps, or books or tracks couldn’t lead you to the light
There’s an outline clear slowly appearing, and it’s pounding by the night
You won’t find it in the wine glass or the stars or in a kiss
But you’ll look in every cranny and nook and leave thoroughly pissed

The poet’s bed is cold, a trace of opium and lies
He falls onto the street where a thousand others cried
He’ll never find the answer, but he still can’t help but try
Craving the taste of a love they’ll never find
He craves the taste of a love he’ll never find
He craves the taste of a love he’ll never find

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