John doesn't open the curtains and now I know why
When the driver of many is a passenger in his own life
John's really good in his heart, he's really bad in his mind
Swear he doesn't mean it, but he's gonna swear it every time
But John, it was wrong of me
So very wrong of me
To come into your home
With my heart dressed in white
Oh no
Ohh
John, can't give you a reason why the attic's on fire
But the grass and the trees and the green are worth keeping alive
And I think it's been a while since he let anyone inside
Is it really that bad, John? Is it really? Is it black curtains in the bag?
John, it was wrong of me
So very wrong of me
To come into your home
With my heart dressed in white
Oh no
Ohh
John, doesn't open the curtains and now I know why
It kills me to know just how beautiful your hand looked in mine
But John, it was wrong of me
So very wrong of me
To sing and to dance in your misery
To open my heart in your loft
Remind you what everything was
I just didn't know quite how bad things got
Is it black curtains in the bag, John?
Is it?
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