Losing Touch

Console me in my darkest hour Could this be that the truth is always gray Caress me in your velvet chair Conceal me from the ghost you cast away I'm in no hurry, you go run And tell your friends I'm losing touch Fill their heads with rumors of impending doom It must be true Console me in my darkest hour And tell me that you'll always hear my cries I wonder what you got conspired I'm sure it was the consolation prize I'm in no hurry, you go run And tell your friends I'm losing touch Fill the night with stories, the legend grows Of how you got lost But you made your way back home You sold your soul, like a Roman vagabond yeah I heard you found a wishing well In the city Console me in my darkest hour (in my darkest hour) And you throw me down I'm in no hurry, you go run And tell your friends I'm losing touch Fill your crown with rumors Impending doom, it must be true But you made your way back home You sold your soul, like a Roman vagabond And all that now you got lost, but you made your way back home You went and sold your soul, an allegiance dead and gone I'm losing touch --- Losing Touch - The Killers and Tommy Marth