Paris

It was seven in the morning when the spark began to give
The bath was spilling over, my
Self pity spilling with it,
So I, I fled the country
To start it all again and found myself in Paris in the cemetery rain
Dear Anne, came to me and took me by the arm
Showed me old disasters embedded in the palm
Warned me of a lady with the sun behind her head
With a a granite neck, a singer who can never sing
Again, but you, my love
You must come, come to joy
Turn your head to the sun
Its down to you, you can shine
You can shake all the
Sorrow from your palm, its down to you if you dare
To come to joy
What was it I ran from, what burnt away inside?
Four hundred schoolboys and a lawyer at my side
Always running with these legs going nowhere
A ghost in the system, and angel on the stairs
But oh, this time
I shall turn, turn my head to the sun
They are marching out of me, one by one
Walking free oh, they're going out of
Oh, I can feel it moving
This time I'm really moving
Are you ready to come?
Come to joy well its really down to
You if you dare to enjoy, its down to you
Hold the key in your hands
It's all in the palm of your hands