I’m getting sick of all my old metaphors
Everything I said got lost in the noise
Is that all that remains of me?

I became what I feared I would be
Middle-aged, grey-clothed and worn
Like the old wedding gown in your mother’s top drawer
I’m quite out of date, out of style

I’m getting sick of all my old metaphors
Everything I said got lost in the noise
Is that all that remains of me?

Nothing but a melody, a fleeting glimpse in time.