So this is odd, the painful realisation that all has gone wrong. And nobody cares at all, and nobody cares at all.
So you buried all your lover's clothes and burned the letters lover wrote, but it doesn't make it any better. Does it make it any better?
And the plaster dented from your fist in the hall where you had your first kiss reminds you that the memories will fade.
So this is strange, our sidestepping has come to be a brilliant dance where nobody leads at all, where nobody leads at all.
And the picture frames are facing down and the ringing from this empty sound is defaning and keeping you from sleep.
And breathing is a foreign task and thinking's just too much to ask and you're measuring you minutes by a clock that's blinking eights.
This is incredible. Starving, insatiable, yes, this is love for the first time. Well, you'd like to think that you were invincible. Yeah, well weren't we all once before we felt loss for the first time. Well this is the last time.
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