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The Last Days of December - David Sylvian
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The Last Days of December David Sylvian

The Last Days of December - David Sylvian
What shall we tell them?
A honeymoon brief as a walk in the park
What shall we tell them when they ask?
And they'll ask

Could you not see another way out?

Was the place without sun?
Was it furnished in black?
With the ache of the gas-oven
There at your path

A death-angel paces in boredom and waits
It shrieks from dark corners undermining your faith

What shall we tell them when they ask?
And they will ask

Could you not see another way out?

Where were the cape and the coast-line?
The wonder-kid's sunshine?

Your sanity shattered
In climbing the walls
Wet towels at the floor-lines
Stuffed under the doors
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