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)