there's a place in her yard where the sunlight has residue
there's a method for removing all the love from your skin
but the theories of memory say there's no point in telling me
if I already know why you won't say where you've been
 
there's a space in my heart where I often keep loneliness
and there's a method for beginning all the ends of your lives
but the moral of every story ending in ecstasy
is that the secret of weightlessness is that look in your eyes
 
so say your spells to yourself
I will not tell you what I fear
make your artifacts of conscience
but bury them far away from here
 
and if the rules we tried to follow
send us further from our way
we'll write a new escape from Eden
along these parapets of decay
 
there's a place in her heart where I once found a symphony
there's a method for saving things you drew on your skin
but the contours of sympathy say it's too late to sing to me
and I already know why you won't ever give in
 
and if the glow in your bedroom after all of these arguments
is a light you can read by I can tell you who won
but the moral of every story ending in victory
is that you're wrong every time you think you know when we're done
 
so keep your promise to yourself
I will not tell you what this means
sign your contracts with your rightness
nut know they have left you in these scenes
 
and if the rules we tried to follow
barter us through the gates of hell
we'll find a new excuse for dreaming
in these gardens of delay
 
there's a place in her hair where you can see through the hopelessness
there's a reason for knowing how to measure a prayer
and you can walk through an obelisk if you can stop yourself from saying this
and we could live where we came from if we could breathe in this air
 
but the rumored discovery of a particle of happiness
is reported in sidebars and debunked by economists
and if we let them keep believing this we might as well end with it
because the methods out of favor are the only ones we know
 
there's a space in the heart where you can learn to save anything
and there's a method for finding where you first lost your way
and the moral of every story ringing in harmony
is that the secret of everything is to not say goodbye
 
 
[Devised, played and produced (sic) with DM1, GarageBand and an iPad on board a flight from Boston to Keflavik, sung into the ensuing jetlag in a Stockholm hotel room.]