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

Black and tired and slow like blood drawn little sand fleas

And I shake you awake and, say where to next?

'Cause in the morning, you leave

You said, I think we're tired, but still we open

And I'll say, where you going? How you plan it all, 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

Bells 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'll rest my head on your shoulder

What you gonna do when I get back home?

I'ma sure run to the home and

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

I will pretend that you're dead

And I'll take what you left in my head

To the backyard I'm filling with flowers instead

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