The monuments all have windows,
all stationary picture frames of cowards
and all the faces are golden, just risen from mold
and taken from all of the days before I'd even known
that the birds were always singing even when it was cold.
The buildings stitch together one pattern of light
all the prisoners falling in line
and we, we never used to mind
when we'd seek out the shadows and whatever they enticed
back when the birds were always singing even when it didn't feel right.
Oh I am sure that I found you in time
oh cause I am sure that I feel alive.
In this city's full of sunsets
each sky is a line of bird's nests
and I can't help but to wish to forget
how your hair played on the nights that we met
back when the birds would always sing, or at least they'd pretend.