There's a hair on the bed The clock has stopped ticking And nothing remotely remotely romantic has been said Let's not pass on the steps, let's take the season very easy Let's take pills, salt water - let's keep looking ahead
Oh, it's a bad, bad ritual Oh, but it calms me down Oh, it's a bad, bad ritual Oh, but it calms me down
There is a history in pictures There is evidence in boxes There is proof of your love for him, long after it's dead And every creak, a trigger, I will think of you with others I could not smother out dead fire in my head And saw your levitating chair I found your long blond hairs I felt your poltergeist presence in the frame of the bed Every creak is a trigger, I will think of you with others I found depravity convinced me I may no longer care
