Iceberg

You should let the dead man sleep

And come home to whatever fantasies he wants to

It's those nights that have a way of creeping up

Causing you to sneak out of your window in a panic

You've got that stack of books and I've got this need to skip town

We can coast on charm and good luck

I never had it so I'm due for it now

It's some sort of dream where you're chased

And you wake up in some foreign place

Oh my darling, my little slice of life

We'll never be anything more than slaves to the trade