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Relâche, Pt. 1: No. 7, Entrée des hommes

de Francis Poulenc

The bell rings
The taxi’s at my door
And he’s been waiting
Says he will wait no more

This house
Gave more than it took
And these walls bent rather than shook

And tomorrow became yesterday
And I never knew it would hurt this way
But it hurts this way

I would be the first to say
That I’ve never been able to live my life
In the shade of grey

There ain’t no time for true lies
And there’s no time for goodbyes

Now I'm eastward bound
On a plane set for home
At least a home for now
At least a home somehow

And I don’t have a thing worth saying
So I'm catching a cab
With my packed bags
At the break of day

Some maintain that things need saying
But there’s nothing worthy
Of what you gave
That ain’t cliché

There ain’t no time for true lies
And there’s no time for goodbyes

An now I'm 10, 000 feet above
The city that we walked around and I'm
10, 000 above the strangers that we talked about and I'm
10, 000 feet above
The thing’s we’d whisper
And things we’d shout
And I'm 10, 000 feet I'm flying high, I'm flying high

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