It feels like a house crumbling Like frosted grass growing between my fingers and toes in a worm ridden hollow It feels hollow Where a house once crumbled in the dark of day when a chorus of synths played in C minor but no one cried Because the bombs yesterday, last month, next week swallowed their sorrow and left them hollow It feels cold Like frosted grass growing above me as the sun shines with renewal Everything could be ok Ok but hollow