Photo of the artist Passenger

Where the Lights Hang Low

Passenger


There's a place I go
Where the lights hang low
The walls are stale from a thousand Marlborough lights
And the carpet tells a tale of a thousand Friday nights

There's a man outside
Big black holes for eyes
Biting down on burnt out cigars
Plays forgotten songs on broken guitars

There's a place I go
Where the lights hang low

There's a place I've found
On the edge of town
Where all the girls dress in angelic white
But age is so unkind under florescent lights

And there's a man by the door
Neatly stitched to the floor
He's sat there for a thousand years
And he'll sit there for a thousand more

There's a place I go
Where the lights hang low
Oh there's a place I go
Where the lights hang low

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