Lyrics:

Now that the furniture's returning to its Goodwill home
With dishes in last week's papers, rumours and elections, crosswords, an unending war
That blacken our fingers, smear their prints on every door pulled shut
Now that the last month's rent is scheming with the damage deposit

Take this moment to decide
If we meant it, if we tried
Or felt around for far too much
From things that accidentally touch

Hands that we nearly hold with pennies for the GST
The shoulders we lean our shoulders into on the subway, mutter an apology
The shins that we kick beneath the table, that reflexive cry
The faces we meet, one awkward beat too long, and terrify

Know that the things we need to say
Have been said already anyway
By parallelograms of light
on walls that we repainted white

Sun in an empty room

Take eight minutes and divide
By ninety million lonely miles
And watch the shadow cross the floor
We don't live here anymore