I think my YouTube watch history suggests that I’m rather melancholy and nostalgic (or possibly a pathetic idiot, whichever). Which is odd, because (otherwise) I’ve been in a fairly good mood.
(1) I don’t know you, but I want you all the more for that. Words fall through me and always fool me and I can’t react. And games that never amount to more than they’re meant will play themselves out.
(2) You can hide beneath your covers and study your pain, make crosses for your lovers, throw roses in the rain, waste your summer praying in vain for a savior to rise on these streets. No, I’m no hero, that’s understood – all the redemption I can offer is beneath this dirty hood, with a chance to make it good somehow, so what else can we do now except roll down the window and let the wind blow back your hair? The night’s bursting open and these two lanes could take us anywhere. We’ve got one last chance to make it real.
(3) So if you ever want something and you’ll call, call… then I’ll come running to fight, and I’ll be at your door when there’s nothing worth running for.
(4) What I am to you is not what you mean to me, you give me miles and miles of mountains and I ask for the sea.
(5) Leave me out with the waste, this is not what I do. It’s the wrong kind of place to be thinking of you. It’s the wrong time for somebody new. It’s a small crime and I’ve got no excuse.
(6) אני אש, אני רוח, לא מוכר, לא ידוע. אני שביל שעובר וחוזר אליך. אני גל, אני קצף, ודמעה, שיורדת על פני. הסתכלי… התקרבי אלי. והנה אני – כבר ישן לבד ורוקם לעצמי חלומות. הנה אני – יודע שאת, את לא יכולה להיות.
(7) She was the wind carrying in all the troubles and fears he for years tried to forget. He was the fire, restless and wild, and you were like a moth to the flame.
(8) Gold November, yellow, brown and green – I try to picture you still somewhere in between. Cold the night falls, shadows drawing in. The glimpse I had of you is torn into the wind. And I wonder why tracing paths, we search the stormy sky.
(9) You are the dream in my nightmare. I am that falling sensation. You are like needles and pins. I am your hangover morning.
(10) They’re picking up pieces of me while they’re picking up pieces of you. In a bag you will be before the day is over. Were you looking for somewhere to be and looking for someone to do? Stupid me, to believe that I could trust in stupid you. On the back of my hand were directions that I could understand. Now that old buzzer Johnny Walker has gone and ruined all our plans, our best laid plans.