My backyard's filled with nothing less
Than Paisley eyes
And rusted specks
A genuine filter
Times of silence chimes
And weather mines your pieces here
It is so deep,
Like crayon-covered paper sheets,
It rhymes with love,
It's blindly heeded,
It knows no other home but me
It's you... And it's you...
So grab your sweater
And I'll grab my fleece
And you'll grab your cap and shoes
And we'll leave
And maybe that's what she needs to hear,
Maybe that's what she needs
This polished room of butterflies,
They're cold and wet,
Not ever dried,
These windows in this creepy place
have carved out
Future tragic shapes,
Our tearful thoughts and hopeless times,
It knows no other face so blind,
It whispers deep, 'til I can't sleep
This room, it begs for you to keep,
But you... but you...
You grab your sweater
And I'll grab my fleece
And you'll grab your cap and shoes
And we'll leave
And maybe that's what she needs to hear,
Maybe that's what she needs
Don't fall asleep,
I'll grab my scarf, my coat, my keys
Don't fall asleep,
And I'll grab my scarf, my coat, my keys
And no, no, no
Don't fall asleep,
I'll grab my scarf, my coat, my keys
Don't fall asleep,
And I'll grab my scarf, my coat, my keys
Maybe that's what she needs to hear,
Maybe that's what she needs
