We're standing cold: a pair of idiots with frozen toes and eyes the size of sycamores. You're looking lost I'm looking at my ancient pocket watch and wondering where all the years go. Well I come back to you every time we're warm and we dissect all our tiny wars. It's in the air if I should dare to help you out or not; see, I'm not sure that I'm capable, I was never shown, and I guess I'll never know.

I carry crosses made from all the pieces that I lost, you carry bags of what you got. We grace our days trying to never place the blame to faces, but always let them out to talk. Well I come back to you every time we're warm and we join up all the polkadots. Now I'm not sure if I'm the cure or if I'm much use at all: it's hard to tell just who's talking when our voices channel all our ghosts. (I thought I heard you in there somewhere.)

Haunted homes are where the heart is, close the door and carry me over boards of grain and amber, through the darkened dusty parlour, round the garden, round, now carry me up the stairs and to the window, blinds draw streetlight stripes against you; across your eyes - I keep my sorrows crossed - now carry me over grass down to the water, set me down and hold my trembles. I didn’t mean to ask so much, I know it tires you out to carry me

Now with our eyes all closed we jump in rivers fully clothed and hope our shoes will not fall off

Well I come back to you every time we're warm and I ask you how you're getting on. You know, there's no one out there who I'd rather share a pod with. Yeah, I think I get your motives even when I breathe incompetence. Well, we see in leaves and branches and we creak when there's a storm.

I want to be your source of calm and maybe even half a man, but I'm not sure that I'm capable; I was never shown and I guess I'll never know.