The moon does exist

we hope that you're still doin well
by the sound of your voice i can tell
theres no where that you'd rather be
than out on those busy streets
but carefull those colors will change
how quickly that blue turns to grey

(i bet you they won't let you leave)

where strangers speak through their crooked teeth all beggin for change
while the girls in skirts with their dirty words all shiver and shake
where boys are ghosts and they sell their clothes for the things that they take
we trace our names onto empty graves and pray for the rain to wash this away

yea wash this away

i cut letters and pictures from books
to remember how we used to look
but no matter the shape of it, it won't ever fit
not like the photos they took
well i can still fit you into a frame
pretendin that nothing has changed
but just like your brittle bones
i've grown thin you know
and i'm sick of waiting for snow

ya i couldn't wait for the spring
to pack up the rest of my things
no, it took the winter cold
and i a wind to blow
to show me where i need to go
i'm so sick of these songs of hope
could someone sing something i know?
one in a dreary key, with a clumsy beat
someone thats singing for me

where strangers speak through their crooked teeth all beggin for chanve
while girls in skirts with their dirty words all shiver and shake
where boys are ghosts and they sell their clothes for the drugs that they take
we trace our names onto empty graves and pray for the rain to wash this away

come wash this away

we hope that you're still doin well
by the sound of your voice i can tell
there's no where that you'd rather be
than out on those dirty streets

i bet you they won't let you leave