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Here's a scale, weigh it out and you'll find, easily |
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More than sufficient doubt that these colors you see |
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Were picked in advance by some careful hand |
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With an absolute concept of beauty |
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They are smeared and these blurs come in random order |
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And they color the eyes of your former lovers |
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Hers were green like July, |
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Except when she cried they were red |
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Now I know a disease that these doctors can't treat |
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You contract on the day you accept all you see |
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Is a mirror, and a mirror is all it can be |
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A reflection of something we're missing |
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And language just happened, it was never planned |
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And it's inadequate to describe where I am |
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In the room of my house where the light's never been |
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Waiting for this day to end |
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And these clocks keep unwinding and completely ignore |
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Everything that we hate or adore |
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Once the page of a calendar is turned it's no more |
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So tell me then, what was it for? |
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Oh tell me, what was it for? |
