A pair of mittens and a diamond ring,
bought near a cross at calvary.
Earrings and a set of keys,
lost near the fallen tree.
And they don't want to be found,
not for now.
The rock that broke the window pane,
still in the garden lane.
High school boys and all their shame,
paving roads with brand new names.
Cuz' they don't want to be found,
as the clowns,
bleeding their souls out to some foreign crown,
lying out loud.
A graveyard in the driven snow;
sleeping souls of bones we know.
Melted wax on cold, hard stone;
forging paths before we go.
Cuz' we don't want to be found,
turned around,
lost in our thought with faces to the ground,
laughing out loud.