My God - Bombay Bicycle Club

All the highs are downwards

All your fumble words are spent

Paying no attention

To the thoughts of your dear friend

No point louder

The sound of my power

Sink in deeper

Further each hour

My God

When our flower’s fading

When our stem begins to fold

I will take off quietly

Like a bird that flees the cold

No point louder

The sound of my power

Sink in deeper

Further each hour

My God

My God

My God

My God

My God

My God

My God