See the broken lights hanging
from shattered chandeliers
A distant, hollow cry
Saying that I am not here
and when you finally find me
I will deny every single truth
and you will buy every line
because you do not have any evidential proof
The sun is setting and the dark clouds are coming in
You can see the facts even though the silver-lining is too thin
We were here before,
that is why this place seems so familiar
You seem so strong when you are not
following the downhill spiral
but even then you are not so weak
Perhaps just filled with exhaustion
and every bone begging for the unforgiving rest
and you know at that point that it is probably for the best
See the broken chandeliers?
Listen to them when then tell you that I am not here
