Backyard

We're at some late night art gallery A 50's living room is nailed to the ceiling You look pretty and sweet with red wine on your teeth But I can't shake this feeling like I'm capsized and kicking We're the last ones here and people start to clean Nagging tired and slow like blood drunk little sand fleas And I shake you awake and say, "Where to next?" 'Cause with the morning you leave You say, "I think Red Tide might still be open" And I say, "When you're gone, how you planning on coping?" I will pretend that you're dead And I'll take what you left in my head To the backyard and fill it with flowers instead A bell's ringing somewhere near the beach It's bright and shrill and it's louder than it should be I wonder if you'll hear it tomorrow night When everyone is sleeping I rest my head on your shoulder "What you gonna do when I get back home And she wants you to hold her?" I will pretend that you're dead And I'll take what you left in my head To the backyard and fill it with flowers instead Well, I will pretend that you're dead And I'll take what you left in my head To the backyard and fill it with flowers instead Well, I will pretend that you're dead Yeah, I'll take what you left in my head To the backyard and fill it with flowers instead