The art of collaboration's never tasted this good.
As when the sun hits your cheek, on the warmest day in March.
And we'd spend the next week and a half in bed, and I'd memorize the relevance of everything you said.
When you dream, you dream in colors that bleed.
Out all over my sheets...
And the patterns that they make, will send me to the grave long before it's my time to leave.
Well, the sting of separation's never hit me this hard.
As when you turned and walked away, in the summer after dark.
And you'll spend the rest of your life living out of state.
And I'll sit around and remenisce on all of my mistakes.
When I scream, I scream at the top of my lungs.
"Baby, please come home..."
But the echoes that it makes, belong to only me.
Far from what I'd care to believe...
When you dream, you dream in colors that bleed.
Out all over my sheets...
And the patterns that they make, will send me to the grave, long before it's my time to leave.