The party is over, cry if you want to
Retreat to our home where the silence becomes you
And all that is left litters tree-lined avenues
The mess is outside but all over our windows
We can see through ourselves in the gaps in the curtains
I'll write down the words to accept all our unknowns
On the walls where you paint epitaphs looking over secret gardens and trees
The brigades of our sonder
If I fixed you, would you hate me?
If I fixed you, would you hate me?
Needles in tremolo
Trembling featherless elbows
If I fixed you, would you hate me?
But I keep a hope of you coming back home