High in the halls of the kings who are gone / Jenny would dance with her ghosts / The ones she had lost and the ones she had found / And the ones who had loved her the most
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We argue in the kitchen about whether to have children / About the world ending / And the scale of my ambition / And how much is art really worth
You said this could’ve been the best thing / That ever happened to you / So you decided not to do it / Now you come back every summer
I used to see the future and now I see nothing / They cut out my eyes and sent me home packing / To pace around the kitchen for scraps of inspiration / Crying like Cassandra, I
And it’s my own heart / Weighed and measured inside / And it’s an old scar / Trying to bleach it out
And the heart is hard to translate / It has a language of its own / It talks in tongues and quiet sighs / And prayers and proclamations
Oh, the king / Gone mad within his suffering / Called out for release / Someone cure him of his grief
Looking up from underneath / Fractured moonlight on the sea / Reflections still look the same to me / As before I went under
When we first came here / We were cold and we were clear / With no colours in our skin / We were light and paper thin
I feel nervous in a way that can’t be named / I dreamt last night of a sign that read: The end of love / And I remember thinking / Even in my dreaming it was a good line for a song