Like the choir in heaven,
Like the death of my eleven,
Like the many who have tragically died.
There’s a devil over yonder,
And she’s getting a little closer,
And what’s the point,
If it’s not played,
In blue?

And the trees outside keep dying,
My shattered windows keep lying,
I keep myself alive like god sleeping on the seventh.
Stray cat, come back home.
You’ll step on glass if you roam.
God, what’s the point,
If I’m not there,
With you?