Well, let the poets cry themselves to sleep
All their tearful words will turn back into steam.

Me, I'm a single cell on a serpent's tongue
There's a muddy field where a garden was
And I'm glad you got away, but I'm still stuck out here
My clothes are soaking wet from your brother's tears.

I never thought this life was possible
You're the yellow bird that I've been waiting for.

The end of paralysis. I was a statuette
Now I'm drunk as hell on a piano bench
And when I press the keys it all gets reversed
The sound of loneliness makes me happier.