i can't face the days
without her here at night
and eight long years to go
in my lonely life
for the little folds in her eyelids
the gentle sighs in the dark
the way down as a failure
isn't too far

i wouldn't feel better if it were the real thing
ending the summer with crying and fear
nineteen ninety-nine was such a long year

i'm so blue and beat down
so tired from from traveling
but i can't seem to find room
at your inn
the wine stain surrounds us
on the pillow that you chewed
but despite your love for murder
i'd rather be you

i wouldn't feel better if it were the real thing
ending the summer with crying and fear
nineteen ninety-nine was such a long year

my eyes are tired beasts
but it doesn't matter in the least
if you'd marry me
we'd kill the priest
and all the congregation
and i know you'd cry
to have eight long years to go
in your lonely life

i wouldn't feel better if it were the real thing
ending the summer with crying and fear
nineteen ninety-nine was such a long year