Phoenix

Phoenix, 1981:
I played in the city of the sun.
Me and Georgine on the run.
Feet on fire in the clay.

Where were you?
I burned for you,
back when I had nothing to burn.
Skinny child,
running wild,
I waited for you to return.

And the world kept on ending
before it ever began …

But you and I, we rise from ashes.
You and I, we are both the same:
Two birds on fire, flying home,
and we’ll get there,
when we learn to love our pain

Phoenix, 1992:
I grew up just a little bit too soon.
Me and Georgine led by the moon.
Sex on fire in the clay.

I saw your smile
in her face for a while
but by morning it was already gone.
I buried that flame,
left her calling my name,
and I laughed at the man I’d become.

And the world kept on ending
before it ever began …

But you and I, we rise from ashes.
You and I, we are both the same:
Two birds on fire, flying home.
And we’ll get there,
when we learn to love our pain.

Phoenix, 2001:
They brought you to the city of the sun
and buried you down by the canyon run.
Bones on fire in the clay.

And where was I
the day you died?
Searching for you, I suppose.
In another land,
trying to understand
why the circle never gets closed.

And why the world keeps on ending,
although it never began …

But you and I, we rise from ashes.
You and I, we are both the same:
Two birds on fire, flying home.
And we’ll get there,
when we learn to love our pain.

Words and music copyright of Paul Weinfield/Tam Lin Music Publishing (BMI, 2012)

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