Rythm:
1-1-1-1-1-2 1-1-1-1-2...

We'll sit on on a wooden bench
Under a big old evergreen...

The smoke slips by my lips
Taste the embers on my tongue...

Into the darkness
How subdued we all feel now...

I often confuse being tired
With being too depressed to move...

She whispers something in his coffin
To her this isn't right...

When I was a child
I'd sit on the swing...

Well well well
Here we are again...

Can you feel the mist on your fingertips?
Can you feel the fog in the air...

Mortal wounds are of flesh
Divine wounds are of the heart...

Dancing with no motion
On the edge of pearly cliffs...

She said something that I couldn't hear
Because my vision was slightly blurred...