歌手:The Script
专辑:《iTunes Festival: London 2011》

You touch these tired eyes of mine
And map my face out line by line,

And somehow growing old feels fine.

Listen close for I'm not smart:

You wrap your thoughts in works of art,

And they're hanging on the walls of my heart.

I may not have the softest touch;

I may not say the words as such,

And though I may not look like much, I'm yours.

And though my edges may be rough;

I never feel I'm quite enough;

It may not seem like very much, but I'm yours.

You healed these scars over time:

Embraced my soul, you loved my mind.

You're the only angel in my life.
The day news came my best friend died,

my knees went weak; you saw me cry.

Say I'm still the soldier in your eyes.

I may not have the softest touch;

I may not say the words as such,

And though I may not look like much, I'm yours.

And though my edges may be rough;

I never feel I'm quite enough;

It may not seem like very much, but I'm yours.

I may not have the softest touch;
I may not say the words as such,
I know I don't fit in that much, but I'm yours.