They say the dead never speak, maybe I don't listen To the sweet nothings in the crazy world I live in I'm in a flush grey Seattle on Monday as the sun rays chase the shadows up hills With a child-like sentiment, catch me if you can it's a fight flight rhetoric Dancing on command till the night's light's setting in Fancy what you have, it's the zeitgeist yet again In hindsight to find my cause of death I chased my dreams then I lost my breath - get it? Am I clever with the words? Does it really really matter when you're entering a hearse? Look, I'm alone in a coma from the methadone searching for a saint that was frozen in a bed of snow And then I'll excavate the set of bones, easy come, easy go, better late than never though Here we go again, we can call it my defeat when my tongue is in my cheek for a solid ninety weeks Swallow pride and grief, that is all I really had, just so I can understand that is all that I can be And from a birdseye view, sixteen shots and I'll earn my dues Sixteen shots and the world I knew is a resting plot for the kerbside blues I see a city trapped in amber full of all the joy and the misery that's captured Bright lights emitting in a pattern by the fireflies like a symphony of lanterns