Kasabian

When I look up to the skies
I see your eyes a funny kind of yellow
I rush home to bed I soak my head
I see your face underneath my pillow
I wake next morning, tired, still yawning
See your face come peeping through my window
Pictures of matchstick men and you
Mirages of matchstick men and you
All I ever see is them and you
Windows echo your reflection
When I look in their direction now