Ben Howard - Black Flies

Black flies on the windowsill

That we are

That we are

That we are to know

Winter stole summer's thrill

And the river's cracked and cold

See the sky is no man's land

A darkened plume to stay

Hope here needs a humble hand

Not a fox found in your place

And no man is an island, oh this I know

But can't you see, oh?

Maybe you were the ocean, when I was just a stone

Black flies on the windowsill

That we are

That we are

That we are to hold

Comfort came against my will

And every story must grow old

Still I'll be a traveler

A gypsy's reins to face

But the road is wearier

With that fool found in your place

So here we are...

And I don't wanna beg your pardon

And I don't wanna ask you why

But if I was to go my own way

Would I have to pass you by?