This Delicate Thing We've Made albumby Darren HayesDaylight breaks, and the black birds call-And the market stalls are filling up, spilling over the streets.High above, over Notting Hill-I am floating still, in a wooden chair, with our restless dog.Been away so long, almost forgot how time and spaceCannot replace this feeling of flying over things.Night falling away, your sleeping face begins to registerThat I'm coming home- yeah, I'm coming home to you.Oh the song that only we know,Where the sunlight and the wind blows.Over bluebells, over black-Heed, call your name-I will float through your window.Major third, or a minor seventh-And a violin...