Line of sight is a thing that's not really a thing
Something like memories or just words on a train
To someone on board, they're a promise to stay
But from afar at the station, they're just moving away
It's time for bed again
Pretending we're dead and then
Dreaming of Heaven
My words are different, whether saying or singing
They're not making sense because they're just five dozen feelings
Doctors know one thing: the medicine's real
But priests know another: to die is to heal
It's time for bed again
Pretending we're dead and then
Dreaming of Heaven
If there's such a thing as line of sight
You're in mine, you're in mine
And if a memory is even a thing
Then I'll never forget your words on the train
You said
'Love is a movement
The only requirement
Is staying in motion'