Wynston Payne, Esther Canata - Images of You Lyrics

My head and heart do battle, 'though they know that there's no hope
And logic hangs on futilely, to some shredded, tattered rope
And I think about New York, and things I've got to do
Ah but all that seems so trivial, next to images of you
I see your secret smile, after you lost your head
As we were lying like two virgins, nestled in your bed
And they say that Prague is beautiful, and I suppose that's true
Ah but Prague is rendered ugly, compared to images of you
I see you in your office, with a cup of tea
I see you by the river, standing next to me
And I see you in the gallery, of paintings in my head
The picture of loveliness, lying in your bed
My arms become your shroud, and I kiss your lips
I kneel beside you humbly, as my hands caress your hips
And I want to tear my passport up; my airline ticket too
And spend my life inside my head, with these images of you
Have mercy on this pilgrim, and all the things he sees
As he bows before your altar, begging on his knees
And I walk these streets like Kafka, one more Wandering Jew
Ah but I don't see cathedrals, just these images of you
Images of you
Images of you
Images of you

My head and heart do battle, 'though they know that there's no hope
And logic hangs on futilely, to some shredded, tattered rope
And I think about New York, and things I've got to do
Ah but all that seems so trivial, next to images of you
I see your secret smile, after you lost your head
As we were lying like two virgins, nestled in your bed
And they say that Prague is beautiful, and I suppose that's true
Ah but Prague is rendered ugly, compared to images of you
I see you in your office, with a cup of tea
I see you by the river, standing next to me
And I see you in the gallery, of paintings in my head
The picture of loveliness, lying in your bed
My arms become your shroud, and I kiss your lips
I kneel beside you humbly, as my hands caress your hips
And I want to tear my passport up; my airline ticket too
And spend my life inside my head, with these images of you
Have mercy on this pilgrim, and all the things he sees
As he bows before your altar, begging on his knees
And I walk these streets like Kafka, one more Wandering Jew
Ah but I don't see cathedrals, just these images of you
Images of you
Images of you
Images of you