"I am walking / out in the rain / and I am listening to the low moan / of the dial tone again / and I am getting / nowhere with you / and I can´t let it go / and I can´t get through (...) I am writing / graffitti on your body / I am drawing the story of / how hard we tried / I am watching your chest rise and fall / like the tides of my life / and the rest of it all / your bones have been my bedframe / and your flesh has been my pillow (...) and eventually our theories couldn´t explain it all / and I´m recording our history now on the bedroom wall / and eventually the landlord will come / and paint all over it all (...)"