Huddled next to my own silhouette, immersed in the echo of a hundred years.
Trying to interpret this bleak, unforgiving atmosphere.

I sleep in a room where a plenitude of couples must have met,
A concoction of romance and lost laments.

And this is the only way they can say goodbye.
This is the only way they can say goodbye.

Across from the remnants of the old projector screen,
Behind the velvet curtains, are the secrets that never came to be.

A gallery of icons lines the stairs,
The story of theatre told in their foreboding glares.

And this is the only way they can say goodbye.
This is the only way they can say goodbye.

No space for nostalgia in this hi-tech age,
Only shabby remains of this once prestigious stage.
And the people who frequented are now entertained at home,
The building another relic of an age bygone.

From where the bar used to be, to where the young ones would queue for treats.
Blistered wallpaper all around, stained, warm carpet lies underneath my feet.

I don’t know how this came to pass,
Part of me has no desire to ask.

And this is the only way they can say goodbye.
This is the only way they can say goodbye.
One crumbling building, left to whither and die.
This is the only way they can say goodbye.