| To Finn, with our regrets
|
| Don’t look now
|
| No, don’t look back
|
| A little fester, a little rot, and a grim souvenir post-dated from future haunts
|
| Because we did
|
| We once swam in the sea
|
| It’s tough, I know, to believe
|
| To conceive
|
| But there were days we dove headfirst into waves
|
| Days we let the sun melt the skin right from our face
|
| Oh!
|
| But now we’re dancing on graves
|
| We’re dancing straight to hell
|
| We’re singing the songs that belong to a minor scale
|
| Days it seemed we were a bit more free to kiss with spit, to kiss goodbye what
|
| remained of bees
|
| When the edge between our winter and spring didn’t always slip right by so
|
| seamlessly
|
| But now we’re dancing on graves
|
| We’re dancing straight to hell
|
| We’re singing the songs that belong to a minor scale
|
| But now we’re dancing on graves
|
| We’re dancing straight to hell
|
| We’re singing the songs that belong to regretful keys and minor scales
|
| I remember the rain, and I remember the smell of the dirt, of the pavement,
|
| whenever it once fell
|
| Yeah, we once dove straight into the sea
|
| Headfirst and headstrong and hopefully
|
| Choking on oil
|
| Awash in the sun
|
| With ultraviolet skin and particulate lungs
|
| Those were the days we lived in bliss
|
| When the places we loved weren’t yet the places we missed
|
| And we never cried
|
| We felt no pain
|
| And we danced all night under acid rain
|
| And we never cried
|
| We felt no pain
|
| We doused your parents in that cheap champagne
|
| And we went dancing on graves
|
| We danced straight to hell
|
| We went dancing on graves, for days, 'til we had danced ourselves into that soil
|
| And the songs we all sang… And the toasts we raised…
|
| As the sun set that day on our naiveté
|
| As if the damage wasn’t already done
|
| Like all that mattered was the truest love |