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Montreal is |
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Where I began to feel inside |
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the gray sadness of winter. |
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When you told me that this isn't it, |
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And I drove away. |
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Walking to the statue in the park, |
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Through snow drifts up over our knees, |
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And every street sign written in French. |
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We sat by the statue. |
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You looked in my eyes, |
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Then said, "I'm so sorry." |
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Later, laying on your bed, |
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Wondering what's going wrong. |
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Every time I'd ask you'd start crying, |
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And whisper, "I don't know why, |
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I only know what I feel, |
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what a voice says to me" |
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I may be here now |
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but I've never left Montreal |
