• It's the end of summer and half of us are dead.
    Romantic self-destruction fit us like a glove.
    Everyone is talking but nothing's being said.
    Everyone is falling but no one calls it love.

    We'll go back to our lives like we were never here.
    Forever only lasts until you walk away.
    All that's left are quiet walks along the pier,
    And blazing starry nights that melted into day.