I always underline the names of the people and places
but nothing stays the same, not anymore.
Would you believe I chose to do this day after day,
to stay among these pages, never wanted any more?
But here in the quiet of this library, I can't seem to get the words out.
What you mean to me is stacking up, and breaking down
Lucky for me all these people trying to sing about love have got it all wrong.
Music is loud and imposing but love has been silent all along,
Don't they see?
Here in the quiet of this library, I don't need to get the words out.
What you mean to me is stacking up in the absence of sound.
In all of the quiet rooms across the world there are lovers,
and they don't need your songs.
They have all the quiet things,
the peaceful wings that will take them to the ones that they long to love.
Here in the quiet of this library, I don't need to say any words.
What you mean to me is so far beyond all the music you've heard.
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