Oh-oh, it seems the schedule didn't lie,
the bus is right on time,
so I guess this is goodbye,
and don't forget to write.
Oh-oh, toothpick chandeliers,
the chemistry of tears,
the vague traces disappear like a bruise.
Boxes of matchbooks and old keychains,
the pertinent remains
of the hours and the days.
Fools gold, chase it to the hills,
mend the bag it fills,
like your heart when it is splitting at the seams.
Godspeed, the wind is at your back,
there is nothing that you lack,
if it ain't in your hands you'll find it in your dreams.