In books lies the soul of the whole Past Time: the articulate audible voice of the Past, when the body and material substance of it has altogether vanished like a dream.
Thomas Carlyle
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Perfect
And I've known
We're just like old friends
We just can't pretend
That lovers make amends
We are reasons so unreal
We can't help but feel
That something has been lost
But please
You know you're just like me
Next time I promise we'll be perfect
Perfect
Perfect
Strangers down the line
Lovers out of time
Memories unwind
So far, I still know who you are
But now I wonder who I was
Angel, you know it's not the end
We'll always be good friends
The letters have been sent on
So please
You always were so free
You'll see, I promise we'll be perfect
Perfect
Strangers when we meet
Strangers on the street
Lovers while we asleep
Perfect
You know this has to be
We always were so free
We promised that we'd be
Perfect
Perfect