Wish that you would open up your living vines to me
Understated wanting from the side of the globe
Sink my teeth into your neck for comfort
Use what's left of me as a drug to get off on

There is only so much said over telegram
Everything stops when you get too close to her
Stop writing songs about things that never happened
There's something sad about the way that you sleep now

I used to understand you
How often do you hear that
It used to be unwelcome
I guess that must mean something

[spoken]
"...Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them:
There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;
As one incapable of her own distress
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element: but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death."
[sung]
[?] on the steps of public school
[?] pressed so deeply into soft skin
You are not your idol, stop acting like a god
How often do you close yourself completely off?

I was bitter for a long time, metallic taste
Moving my way through with blood on my teeth
Twitching, aching fingers for months as I worked
You were so supportive and I cannot understand it

Who are you behind when you're singing on your own?
Silence is not something that you hold onto for long
Who are you behind when you're singing on your own?
Silence is not something that you hold onto for long
I guess that must mean something