Mary

Such a pity that all my lines aren't new
And I'm so giddy thinking all these things of you
But what is a liar if all his lies are true?
And he's so perfect that he cannot be used

I cut out the part where your face used to be
But I kept the photo was a good one of me
You're a mystery
I cling to my past, cause my future seems weak
I wrote you those letters, a thousand each week
You're a mystery, to me

Imagination is all you'll ever need
In all situations of feeling incomplete
You take all my heroes and burn them all away
Said the mad man with plenty more to say

I cut out the part where your face used to be
But I kept the photo was a good one of me
You're a mystery
I cling to my past, cause my future seems weak
I wrote you those letters, a thousand each week
You're a mystery, to me
You're a mystery, Oh, to me