Alone

The Azoic


The train flies by and off you go
To another place, far away, far away, alone.
But you like it there, you like it there.
With no life, no death, only stillness.
I think of you often in your world of sin.

But you like it there, you like it there.
My cries rustle in the trees, as I see your face
Cold as the night on which you left me.
But you like me there, you like me there.


Writer/s: Maurice Ernest Gibb, Robin Hugh Gibb, Barry Alan Gibb