Yann Tiersen


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So here we are under London's glass
And granite arms as they reach for the half-moon
Me a blood of boldness and booze
And the rusty heart polka-dot breeze of you
Stands stuck to the street in cool shoes

What could possibly go wrong?
What could possibly go right?
We could list all the good things and list all the bad things
But if we're all just vibration
What difference does it make?
My heart could be a stone
It's a sponge
It's a balloon
It's a lonely rock with a fiery tail
Falling in your atmosphere
Bonding up and breaking down
So let our atoms melt together
Let our nuclei converge
I want you now
And your conscience can be clear
My yesterday is dead
The present's an illusion
And tomorrow is just a nightmare away
This is our story, our movie
This is our rom-com and it ends like this

Without looking up, the girl cautiously takes the boy's hand
She steels herself and meets his gaze
The boy smiles
The girl surrenders
They kiss

We pull away to the view of lovers
In a long winter coat
A woman straddles a man on a wooden bench
Behind a coin-operated lavatory
Two boys passionately embrace

Vague silhouettes sigh behind the steamed windows of a parked car
Two figures fumble in a phone box
There's a couple in every doorway
And around every corner
Snow begins to fall

We drift up into the sky
And look down on the boy and the girl
As they become tiny specks on the London street
We pull away farther and father
Until London's gone, England's gone, Europe's gone
Now we're in space
Watching the Earth as the sun rises behind it

Satellites orbit by
A billion stars surround us
We float over the moon
Then we cut to black and the credits roll

I want you now, and that was all we can know

Imagine we wake up tomorrow and nothing's happened
Think of what we'll never know
One night of love, and I'm one full of doubt

Take my hand, take my tongue
Let's run
Tonight can be a detour, a respite
I'm your boss man's holiday, your monthly half-day off
I'm your sensual sojourn

My heart could be a stone
My heart could be a sponge
This is the end, ten years in the making
A decade of design
This kiss is 'hello'
This kiss is 'goodbye'