A symphony of dying sings

returning patrons to their seats

dead opera hiss and roar the sky

push and pulling satellites

everybody's saying grace

to tidal waves and empty plates


we turn the clocks ahead

and hope to wake up


well nothing feels like anything

and when it hurts you know it's love

dead opera hiss and roar the sky

and when it hurts you know it's love

we tear at skin until it's gone

and when it hurts you know it's love


we turn the lights down low

and watch the earth explode


(well I know about a million words, 

so I always know just what to say)