Texte d'origine - Anglais - Bones (The Editors)

How can you always be late for your arrival?
You know I'd forgive you every single time

Retreat, retreat
I've fallen at the low tide
Oh retreat, retreat
And meet me by the quayside

Are your eyes showing off for mine
Your face in my hands is everything good I need

The system's put in place, put there to protect us
For you I'd throw a lifeline every time

Bones, starved of flesh
Surround your aching heart
Full of love