Weatherbelle - The The

Sitting at the back of a smoke filled room

On a cold and sunny afternoon

Drinking red wine

And counting the laugh lines

On the face of the girl who stands in the doorway

And over her shoulder

There’s a world growing colder

I’m feeling older and slowly less sober

It’s the first and the last time

That we’ll ever meet

Just falling leaves

From winter trees

So light gives in to dark

The nylon sheets softly spark

Nostalgia strikes hard at the heart

That cannot escape from its past

And it’s the first and the last time