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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Ben Howard
Vocals
Chris Bond
Drums
India Bourne
Background Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Ben Howard
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Chris Bond
Producer
Andrew Bond
Assistant Producer
Mike Crossey
Mixing Engineer
Jonathan Gilmore
Assistant Mixing Engineer
Robin Schmidt
Mastering Engineer
Darren Lawson
Recording Engineer
Lyrics
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
No man is an island
Oh, this I know
But can't you see, oh?
Or 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 traveller
A gypsy's reins to face
But the road is wearier
With that fool found in your place
No man is an island
Oh, this I know
But can't you see, oh?
Or maybe you were the ocean
When I was just a stone
No man is an island
Oh, this I know
But can't you see, oh?
Or maybe you were the ocean
When I was just a stone
So here we are
Ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh
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?
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?
Ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh
Writer(s): Benjamin John Howard
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