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