Here's Where The Story Ends

The Sundays: Here's Where The Story Ends

People I know, places I go, make me feel tongue-tied.
I can see how people look down, they're on the inside.
Here's where the story ends.

People I see, weary of me, showing my good side.
I can see how people look down, I'm on the outside.
Here's where the story ends.
Here's where the story ends.

It's that little souvenir of a terrible year
Which makes my eyes feel sore.
Oh I never should have said, the books that you read
Were all I loved you for.

It's that little souvenir of a terrible year
Which makes me wonder why;
And it's the memories of your shed, that make me turn red
Surprise, surprise, surprise!

Crazy I know, places I go, make me feel so tired.
I can see how, people look down, I'm on the outside.
Here's where the story ends.
Here's where the story ends.

It's that little souvenir of a terrible year
Which makes my eyes feel sore.
And who ever would've thought the books that you brought
Were all I loved you for.

Oh the devil in me said, go down to the shed,
I know where I belong;
But the only thing I ever really wanted to say
Was wrong, was wrong, was wrong!

It's that little souvenir of a colourful year
Which makes me smile inside;
So I cynically, cynically say, well it's that way
Surprise, surprise, surprise, surprise, surprise!
Here's where the story ends.
Here's where the story ends.