Whenever we talk there's this disconnected feeling that we share
like somebody's ripped apart our script and taped it back together all wrong
floating through everything bright turns to darkness darkness just hangs there
no one else swims inside this backward flowing river we share
inside of your voice I hear your choice to look the way you've been painted
you tend to agree though you've never seen those colors exactly as I did then
flowing through everything brights turn to dark and darkness just hangs there
no one else lives inside this backward painted picture we share
we live on the edge
we live on the edge of town
we live on the edge
we live on the edge of town
outside of the trees
we float in the breeze
and watch as the houses all vacate
they come from their homes
and take out their phones
to send all their friends a new update
blowing through everything
bright turns to dark and darkness just hangs there
no one else ï¬ts inside this backward fl oating bubble we share