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Description
Everywhere I go people ask for my story.
Am I a rich man with everything, or just a traveler on the streets?
It's Christmas Time – snow falling gently.
I might try not, but I think back to when that snow wasn't real.

I thought it be different by now, you know, after all the pain.
I thought after every loss that there's always something to gain.
Sure there're some things I don't care about –like this bowtie on my neck.
But I'm tired of running away and always turning my back.

So what kind of story should I tell you?
The one of fear and truth.
You decide; I will not push you.
I'll even tell you pretty lies.
Because underneath the tweed, and the silly hats I wear,
Is a past waiting to burst out into Vincent's canvas.

Truth be told, I wish to see all of them again,
But when I look back, all I see is regret.
The stars I let die, burning in my mind.
Can you keep a secret? –I was really there both times

You see these eyes?
They're old eyes.
Young man's guise.
You see these eyes?
They're old eyes.
In some other time, somebody else cries.
You see these eyes?
They're old eyes.
Well, I shouldn't bore you with the rest of the details.

You see these eyes?
They're old eyes.
You see these scars?
They're old lies.
[And one thing I can tell you, monsters are real.]

Description
Everywhere I go people ask for my story.
Am I a rich man with everything, or just a traveler on the streets?
It's Christmas Time – snow falling gently.
I might try not, but I think back to when that snow wasn't real.

I thought it be different by now, you know, after all the pain.
I thought after every loss that there's always something to gain.
Sure there're some things I don't care about –like this bowtie on my neck.
But I'm tired of running away and always turning my back.

So what kind of story should I tell you?
The one of fear and truth.
You decide; I will not push you.
I'll even tell you pretty lies.
Because underneath the tweed, and the silly hats I wear,
Is a past waiting to burst out into Vincent's canvas.

Truth be told, I wish to see all of them again,
But when I look back, all I see is regret.
The stars I let die, burning in my mind.
Can you keep a secret? –I was really there both times

You see these eyes?
They're old eyes.
Young man's guise.
You see these eyes?
They're old eyes.
In some other time, somebody else cries.
You see these eyes?
They're old eyes.
Well, I shouldn't bore you with the rest of the details.

You see these eyes?
They're old eyes.
You see these scars?
They're old lies.
[And one thing I can tell you, monsters are real.]