There's chaos outside, but I am a sorry sport
Filling balloons and pinning them up
on the walls of your living room
And our robes are hung up
The red and blue fade to grey
in the recessed of our closets so dark
they're buried away
And they sing...
And you are a ghost,
but I am an intricate machine
Of narrative themes and remembered dreams
And books severed seams
And you are a rope
But I am a city built of stones
And though you may pull I will be too dull
For your shivering bones
And we were a pair
Of silhouettes merging on the screen
And the way I would float
When I sang through your throat
Wasn't a sequel to my dreams
And when your balloons all take flight
You'll be left with an imprint black on white
and you'll feel so discouraged
from all you have tried
come inside, come inside
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