I'd like to sneak around your house
When everyone's asleep
Tiptoe across the door-room mat
That used to [bad word] me
Then gently shut the door
To see a brand-new Christmas tree
And the silence pounds like a kettle [bad word] And a [bad word] through me
 [bad word] 
But does she ever miss me?
I still hear her singing
Just like an orchestra, just like a painting
With velvet [bad word] and wooden framing
She's a familiar Monet that's worth renaming
The scar

I choked up the [bad word] hurt
I ran straight through them all
Then pushed aside what's left of pride
And trembled through the hall
And there stands a door you'd seen before
When all you knew you was down
But your perfume breath brought peaceful death
On sleepy silver gowns
 [bad word] 
But does she ever miss me?
I still hear her singing
Just like an orchestra, just like a painting
With velvet [bad word] and wooden framing
She's a familiar Monet that's worth renaming
The scar

Yeah, to wake is such a dreaded thing
To sleep is such a hole
I eat without [bad word] I drink till I unfold
And now hear the end of everything
Just thrown onto the ground
But October fell and broke my shell
And all I knew was down
 [bad word] 
But does she ever miss me?
I still hear her singing
Just like an orchestra, just like a painting
With velvet [bad word] and wooden framing
She's a familiar Monet that's worth renaming
The scar

Hold my hand (so they [bad word] them in),
Hold my soul.
Angels sing I’m staving (the scar).
My ears swell cold (so they [bad word] them in),
Hold my soul.
Angels call her the scar