The last words hang 
On the vultures tongues 
And hands wear the claws 
To carry my feathers away 
My warmth burns sometimes 
And I keep the change 
In the same pocket 
With my lucky coin 

Teach us to care and not to care 
I’m the shield above the who I’m not 
Teach us to care and to not to stare 
I’m a postman wrote and burned all the letters in his bag 

This time heals nothing 
Always the time is not enough 
When the coffin [bad word] 
The ice's still melting 
In half emptied jar 

Letdown is the first joy of grown-up 
Back wheels hang almost over the edge 
But my fingers are long enough to play white keys that are 
Echoes of the past 
And I can hear 
My voice so careless about 
How things work; 
Loved to lock up 
In grey haze 
Over black woods of denial 
But for now something's wrong with the melody 
And I see those thickets are just painted decorations
And I have to appear grown-up and sad