We buy our eyes, paint our heavens with abandon, and lie down
The truth comes when we all lose our names
We buy our eyes from ageless midnight friends
Who shame us all with irises we can't see
Unless we're blind ourselves
It's not the words you choose,
It's those that you leave out
And I get chairs on top of chairs on top of doubt
We were lost for weeks between
Rows and rows of empty books,
In six-sided rooms with doors on either end
And isn't this the way of things?
The dirt denies the air you breathe,
The water fails to love you,
And the stars all just explode
It's not the words you choose,
It's how you spit them out
So I get chairs on top of chairs on top of doubt