The Last Days Of December - David Sylvian

What shall we tell them?

A honeymoon as brief

As a walk in the park

What shall we tell them?

When they ask?

And they’ll ask…

Could you not see another way out?

Was the place without sun?

Was it furnished in black?

With the ache of the gas-oven

There at your back

The death angel paces

In boredom and waits

It shrieks from dark corners

Undermining your faith

What shall we tell them

When they ask?

And they will ask…

Could you not see another way out?

Where were the cape and the coastline?

The wonderkid’s sunshine?

Your sanity shattered

And climbing the walls

Wet towels at the floorline

Stuffed under the doors

And the powder-black wings

Left you blind

The last days of December

Are the loneliest kind

In the mess that you made

There was no pause for thought

Cause the lies that I told

Were the lies that you bought

There was no place to find you

Nor you to be found

In the margins of books you were reading

There are stages to grieving

That won’t let you down

Where was the coastline?

The wonderkid’s sunshine?

Under northern skies

Anonymous and free

Your nightfisherman pushes a boat

Out to sea

You’ll surely meet yours

Though his faith is unsound

There are stages to grieving

That won’t let you down