So now this house has grown Too Small.
Don't think of how it used to be.
You say you live now in Tomorrow,
And there I sense you don't see me.
Don't think of how it used to be.
You say you live now in Tomorrow,
And there I sense you don't see me.
The clock chimes four, You'll turn again then,
To take pursuit of Empty Dreams.
My sensitivity is dying.
You're bound to some day think of Me.
Hey Hey can't you see?
Baby don't you lie to me --
I know you think that you must go,
Well, I think that's alright by me.
Nervous words and empty motions,
Claim symptoms just too plain to pass.
I don't know where You think you're going.
But you have drained my love at last.
Claim symptoms just too plain to pass.
I don't know where You think you're going.
But you have drained my love at last.
Tomorrow I'll be slowly Movin'.
I can't waste all my days the same --
Don't stop to think of where I might be.
Don't stop to figure who's to Blame.
I can't waste all my days the same --
Don't stop to think of where I might be.
Don't stop to figure who's to Blame.
NOTE: Unfortunately, I am unable to post a link to this great, post-Byrds Gene Clark song, but it can be found (if you can still find a copy, you should) on the marvelous UK Flying High collection, where it was first released several years ago. The twangy song sounds like something that could have/should have been the theme to a good cinema or television Western from the 1950s or 60s (something with Clint Eastwood), although it could easily be adapted to acoustic instruments and the (e.g., Henry Fonda) 1940s. It's tough, touching and like most of Gene Clark's songs, quite mysterious.
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