Down the steps slides Sarah in her wedding dress as the groomsmen gather in the hall.
She’s cautiously counting on the sunset to break her fall.
Last man standing made the call; the day is old, but the sun holds strong through it all.
This windswept McGuffin stands tall.
Raise your glass, raise your glass to the lovers who have passed.
Sarah’s wedding make-up is fading away. She’s sick and tired of these double-sided hearts,
broke down from the start, struggling for a spark.
But the rustling of angels’ wings on the corner brings the young romantic’s fall into orbit.
She tells them the answer is gravity. ‘It’s called gravity’ she says.
Raise your glass, raise your glass to the lovers who have passed.
Sharp winds would howl beside her, stirring up memories of the past,
Where restless boys would bow to ask her how to make these feelings last.
Sarah sits safe at the station, picking holes in the remainder of the day,
So stung with sorrow, maybe tomorrow, she’ll be back to stay.
But the ceaseless greetings have left her beaten and leaving town in search of Eden’s refrain
As the train, it pulls away, she swears that she’ll be back to stay.
Raise your glass, raise your glass to the lovers who have passed.
Raise your glass, raise your glass to the lovers who have passed.
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