| Who is much more than a friend, | |
| But never by my side? | |
| All beginnings are an end, | |
| In the blackness there’s a light | |
| Maybe you will only read | |
| One or two letters at the most | |
| Shipping crates might line the streets, | |
| Every stranger is a ghost | |
| Cashiers won’t deduct the pain, | |
| Loneliness sleeps on the couch | |
| Only noticing the stain | |
| Once the color’s faded out | |
| Let’s go camping in the cold, | |
| Make a fire, buy a tent | |
| Envision leather getting old, | |
| Re-send pigeons that were sent | |
| Try to memorize your smell, | |
| It reminds me of a field | |
| Crickets clearer than a bell | |
| Have all their guys recast in steel | |
| Birds don’t cry when echoes quit, | |
| They trail off into the fog | |
| Autumn hurts far less than sticks, | |
| Knowing winter’s five feet tall | |
| Generations of defeat | |
| All assuming your the worst | |
| They never tied the cans | |
| To the back end of a hearse | |
| Take your hand against my own, | |
| If there’s a finger I can grip | |
| Reassure me at the ace | |
| Mine’s a black heart you could flip | |
| I’ve come to terms with what I have, | |
| What’s been given, what’s been asked | |
| Turn my back against the sea, | |
| And beg the serpent for a dance | |
| But in the red dirt muddy towns, | |
| Celebration of the dark | |
| Children walking hand in hand | |
| With the pygmies in the park | |
| I can’t touch you only once, | |
| You always leave me wanting more | |
| So keep my feet within the house, | |
| And stick my toes just past the door | |
| Let me know when I’m in love, | |
| Let me die when I’m in love |
| Who is much more than a friend, | |
| But never by my side? | |
| All beginnings are an end, | |
| In the blackness there' s a light | |
| Maybe you will only read | |
| One or two letters at the most | |
| Shipping crates might line the streets, | |
| Every stranger is a ghost | |
| Cashiers won' t deduct the pain, | |
| Loneliness sleeps on the couch | |
| Only noticing the stain | |
| Once the color' s faded out | |
| Let' s go camping in the cold, | |
| Make a fire, buy a tent | |
| Envision leather getting old, | |
| Resend pigeons that were sent | |
| Try to memorize your smell, | |
| It reminds me of a field | |
| Crickets clearer than a bell | |
| Have all their guys recast in steel | |
| Birds don' t cry when echoes quit, | |
| They trail off into the fog | |
| Autumn hurts far less than sticks, | |
| Knowing winter' s five feet tall | |
| Generations of defeat | |
| All assuming your the worst | |
| They never tied the cans | |
| To the back end of a hearse | |
| Take your hand against my own, | |
| If there' s a finger I can grip | |
| Reassure me at the ace | |
| Mine' s a black heart you could flip | |
| I' ve come to terms with what I have, | |
| What' s been given, what' s been asked | |
| Turn my back against the sea, | |
| And beg the serpent for a dance | |
| But in the red dirt muddy towns, | |
| Celebration of the dark | |
| Children walking hand in hand | |
| With the pygmies in the park | |
| I can' t touch you only once, | |
| You always leave me wanting more | |
| So keep my feet within the house, | |
| And stick my toes just past the door | |
| Let me know when I' m in love, | |
| Let me die when I' m in love |
| Who is much more than a friend, | |
| But never by my side? | |
| All beginnings are an end, | |
| In the blackness there' s a light | |
| Maybe you will only read | |
| One or two letters at the most | |
| Shipping crates might line the streets, | |
| Every stranger is a ghost | |
| Cashiers won' t deduct the pain, | |
| Loneliness sleeps on the couch | |
| Only noticing the stain | |
| Once the color' s faded out | |
| Let' s go camping in the cold, | |
| Make a fire, buy a tent | |
| Envision leather getting old, | |
| Resend pigeons that were sent | |
| Try to memorize your smell, | |
| It reminds me of a field | |
| Crickets clearer than a bell | |
| Have all their guys recast in steel | |
| Birds don' t cry when echoes quit, | |
| They trail off into the fog | |
| Autumn hurts far less than sticks, | |
| Knowing winter' s five feet tall | |
| Generations of defeat | |
| All assuming your the worst | |
| They never tied the cans | |
| To the back end of a hearse | |
| Take your hand against my own, | |
| If there' s a finger I can grip | |
| Reassure me at the ace | |
| Mine' s a black heart you could flip | |
| I' ve come to terms with what I have, | |
| What' s been given, what' s been asked | |
| Turn my back against the sea, | |
| And beg the serpent for a dance | |
| But in the red dirt muddy towns, | |
| Celebration of the dark | |
| Children walking hand in hand | |
| With the pygmies in the park | |
| I can' t touch you only once, | |
| You always leave me wanting more | |
| So keep my feet within the house, | |
| And stick my toes just past the door | |
| Let me know when I' m in love, | |
| Let me die when I' m in love |
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