Postcard

Well, old post cards
Are romantic when they’re intact
And old postcards
Are romantically filled of fact
And the ones you have to watch
Are the ones that keep coming back
And you came back
Yes you came back

Well old cards sit on old cards
And the streets have changed
But I think I’m still the same

And it’s not what I want to hear, what I want to see
But your skin’s covered in postcards from you to me, to me. To me

When you see me sit by myself, you’ll think that I’m waiting for someone else
But I’m wishing for somewhere else, I’m wishing for somewhere else

Two postcards in a month or so
Well I don’t know, I just don’t know