At the end of the day,
In the cold of the night,
When the branch breaks I fall
To the floor of the world.
I scream like a child,
I scream for my wings.
I scream at the words
Making cheap what I feel.
I walk through my room
And I kick down the walls.
I lie on the bed
And feel there's nothing left but doubt.
In the cold of the night
I will show you my wounds.
Only then can I say to you
"spread your dreams under me, my love".
I dream of this bridge,
I dream of these trees,
I burn in these flames,
That I'll never understand.
I walk through my room
And I kick down the chairs.
I've opened my eyes
And seen there's nothing left but doubt.
Writer(s): Steven John Wilson, Timothy John Bownass
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