Nothing in the field
From my broken window view
Nothing in my old brick house; no love for me and you
Nothing in the field
From my broken window view
Nothing in my old brick house; no love for me and you
There's nothing in my arms
But dirty paper plates
And nothing in the look on your cold and distant face
And the summer grass when the children rest
And the flowers I recall meant nothing at all
Nothing in the way I tend to spend my nights
And nothing in my words can help to make it right
There's nothing left for me but the haunting memory
Of a time when I had nothing and you gave it all to me
Nothing in the record room
Nothing in an empty town
Nothing that i'll leave you but the keys to everything
For they no longer unlock anything