dear ingrid

the sky looks pissed

the wind talks back

and you, my love

are gone

my room feels wrong;

the bed won't fit

i cannot seem to operate 

and you, my love

are gone

so glide away on soapy hills

and promise not 

to promise anymore

and if you come around again

then i will take,

then i will take

the chain from off the door

i'll never say

that i'll never love;

oh but i don't say a lot of things

and you, my love

are gone.

if you come around again

then i will take

the chain 

from off the door.