Sitting alone in the dark of a stadium
He whispers his secrets into a cheap guitar With the flick of his wrist he turns words into melodies
Chords into church bells, fill up the allies
Lovers entwine in the heat of the night
And by dawn are apart in the shivering silences We will pretend
That it is all just made up The song that he writes
Are too personal
He can't play them for anyone When he's all alone
The lovesong writer sings
Oh, can anyone hear me now?
No one hears at all So he stumbles through syllables, cut from their sentences
Lost letters call to him, deep in the alphabet
Please give us meaning And pose for me now
You're the broken heart
You're the sigh in the back of the throat And on the other side
You're the queen of spades
You're the sound that she makes on her way There's always a way out
There's always a way out When he's all alone
The lovesong writer sings
Oh, can anyone hear me now?
But no one hears at all The lovesong writer sits
All alone
When he hears the sound Of the knock at the door Fifty red roses falling apart
In the hands of someone that you scraped in and left behind
All of the others strolled up and now showed up at your door
Staring you down, they said Sing for me, sing for me, sing for me now
Sing for me, sing for me, sing for me now Yeah yeah, yeah yeah