The lost were playing in the yard

Giving goosebumps to all the Sunday Summer trees

Our hands were tangled in the weeds

Moving so softly nobody can see

Against your morning skin

Well it's shy like two young lovers walking by

There's a soft strange kind of odd

Giving company to all the lonely hearts

There's a hundred cigarettes on the ground

And our clothes are still hanging around

And it's nice to be ugly in each other's arms

So we can cry over all the things we were before