We found a pictogram on telegraph in Grant

Four fingers and roses, the impossible hand

The summer trash is cooking in the grass

And nothing feels the same

And nothing feels the same

No, I can’t see your pain

You put the painted picture of me on your wall

I was so startled that my face was your decor

Cause your love like half a year is making me so bored

And nothing feels the same

And nothing feels the same

Now I can’t see your pain

Losing reality, I’m curling on the floor

Maybe psychic pain is always better to ignore

You’re walking home from BART and you were sending to the stars

And nothing feels the same

And nothing feels the same

Now I can’t see your pain