Everybody's talking at me. I don't hear a word they're saying. Only the echoes of my mind. . People stopping, staring. I can't see their faces. Only the shadows of their eyes.
You might wake up some mornin'. To the sound of something moving past your window in the wind. And if you're quick enough to rise. You'll catch a fleeting glimpse of someone's fading shadow.
Ah look at all the lonely people. Ah look at all the lonely people. . Eleanor Rigby, picks up the rice. In the church where a wedding has been. Lives in a dream.