Our nostalgia is lost in history,
Now I find it a little harder
To see through the rose-coloured glasses.
When frosted mornings were magic
And your smile was my lighthouse
Now I find it a little harder
To see today
When all I think of
Is our magic of before.
Forgotten perfections haunt each morning
And every night tells a hundred hazy dreams
Now I find it a little harder
But I know it might get a little better,
When I see a distant tomorrow.
Maybe we’ll see it together