Your hurried footsteps sound as if you're packing up and leaving town.
Beneath the second floor every sound's exaggerated and...
this November snow, it makes it hard to see the open road.
It seems the seasons change exactly when you're desperate for things to stay.
But if you call, well if you call
I will always answer you with words that ring with broken dreams and are seldom ever used.
And it may come to you underground.
I wrote a clever song.
I always dreamt the crowd would sing along to my empty thoughts, and kill the poets to save their dying art.
But if you call, well if you call
I will always answer you with words that ring with broken dreams and are seldom ever used.
And I've never been a comfort,
'cause no one ever taught me how to grieve.
And we never quite remember,
So I'll carve our names in every fence and barely living tree.
And it may come to you in a dream or vision that you have while you're away and underground.