I don't know, could go to 7th street In the spring we moved out west I missed the cocktails at the concorde But every wave must have a crest There is an image that I-I cannot shake The wind blowing through your hair
A part of you still moving, but all of you are not there I wonder how they think of you now Which picture they've had framed And if its easier at dinner to not bring up your name Orca, orca, orca There's nothing quite as black and white as you
Of course there are two oceans The shadow and the truth The one outside your window And the one inside of you Such eyes you had, not colour But space to see the truth I think I knew that you were dying I just didn't want the proof Orca, orca, orca There's nothing quite as black and white as you
You were dressed in your shirt With your back to the wall Like you made up your mind Like you knew
We all make our own way Into blue We all make our own way Into blue Theres nothing quite, as black and white, as you I wonder if you feel it too Theres nothing quite, as black and white, as you We all make our own way into blue Orca, orca, orca, orca
You were dressed in your shirt With your back to the wall Like you made up your mind Like you knew
We all make our own way Into blue We all make our own way Into blue We all make our own way Into blue We all make our own way Into blue
Compositores: James Beck Gordon, Peter Lawrie Winfield ECAD: Obra #11907885