Paroles de Fickleness

Better days are the property of past Simple words and things, they become treasures so fast I'm like the boy looking at his broken toy Swearing on and on, he will never play again Maybe one of these days, an angel in the sky Will tell me why... Why every ideal thing is here to die Better days are the property of past Simple words and things, they become treasures so fast Just like a ghost, I will vanish in your mind Am I with you now only for this favourite time? Maybe one of these days, an angel in the sky Will tell me why... Why every person I love is looking for New and higher days, A new game to play One more, without me.