You know,
You decorate the garage wall,
Hang in people's halls,
Live in secret drawers,
If you could look around you,
Wonder what you'd see.

Fiction.
That's all you really are I know,
Editorial dreams.
They can't make you real,
Tell me where you came from,
And where you're going to.

I won't ever, no I'll never get to know her,
Or be the cause of anything she does.
I won't ever, no I'll never get to hold her.
Do you think this aching could be love?

Oh you know,
You've figured in some fantasies.
You would not believe,
What you've had to do,
Life goes on around you all because of you.

I won't ever, no I'll never get to know her,
Or be the cause of anything she does.
I won't ever, no I'll never get to hold her.
Do you think this aching could be love?

You know,
That in twenty years or more,
You still look the same
As you do today.
You'll still be a young girl,
When I'm old and grey.

I won't ever, no I'll never get to know her,
Or be the cause of anything she does.
I won't ever, no I'll never get to hold her.
Do you think this aching could be love?

Copyright: CONCORD MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC
Writer(s): MICHAEL RUTHERFORD, PHIL COLLINS, TONY BANKS