| Forecast failing
|
| The heat they said would sweep the land has failed to touch the cold that lines
|
| the sides of these four walls
|
| With goodwill trailing
|
| And all our money running out; |
| what seemed a good idea has fast become a
|
| fraying waste of time
|
| Sunset-staring was meant to be this nice idea; |
| it’s not the moment that we
|
| hoped, we’d check our phones, our eyes could meet
|
| Brainstorm-sharing could be the story that we tell ourselves to dam the flood
|
| and wash away the legends that we built
|
| Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
|
| Forecast failing
|
| The heat they said would sweep the land has failed to touch the cold that lines
|
| the sides of these four walls
|
| With goodwill trailing
|
| And all our money running out; |
| what seemed a good idea has fast become a
|
| fraying waste of time
|
| Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
|
| Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
|
| Taken, taken, taken, taken, taken
|
| Forecast failing
|
| The heat they said would sweep the land has failed to touch the cold that lines
|
| the sides of these four walls
|
| With goodwill trailing
|
| And all our money running out; |
| what seemed a good idea has fast become a
|
| fraying waste of time
|
| Tension fleeting
|
| Of always everything to say; |
| the space between our words gets longer as the
|
| noise our silence built
|
| Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
|
| Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
|
| Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
|
| Taken, taken, taken, taken |