A symphony of dying sings returning patrons to their seats dead opera hiss and roar the sky push and pulling satellites everybody's saying grace to tidal waves and empty plates we turn the clocks ahead and hope to wake up well nothing feels like anything and when it hurts you know it's love dead opera hiss and roar the sky and when it hurts you know it's love we tear at skin until it's gone and when it hurts you know it's love we turn the lights down low and watch the earth explode (well I know about a million words, so I always know just what to say)