| The colours run, the dyes connect, they bleed into others |
| The image forms, it paints a scene, we can’t move forward |
| A feeling comes, the pulse subsides, we turn into rubble |
| So reconstruct what there were once was, and I’ll pay for it |
| Say what you wish, not sure what it accomplishes |
| Paint an image indistinct, from what we’re caught in |
| What was said’s nothing but some poor reflection of us |
| Can’t help but think the signal’s weak |
| Thank you for your time |
| Keep my mind off, keep in mind |
| Keep in mind that what was perfect wore |
| Down to something formless |
| Maybe a relief was coming |
| Tension underneath now nothing |
| It was all that it could be, all that it could be |
| We’re uncovered aren’t we |
| Were aligned but then it shifts |
| We lose our grip |
| No ill will on my part |
| I hang on to sentiment |
| Don’t want to forget |
| I concede we were muddled |
| But you could see where the colour was |
| When it breathed it seemed so safe |
| Though it seems just another unfortunate ending |
| I contest that it wasn’t worthless like we left it |
| And it was singular, and we were drawn through some attraction |
| And we were elements, and we combined, and we combined |
| There was a tenderness, though it defied our interaction |
| We weren’t pretending when, the light was low, we were alone |