try locking the doors   when there's no need to   try turning off the lights   when you leave the room   try opening a window   when you close a door   try leaving your clothes   on my bedroom floor   say "walking away" instead of "leaving"   say "nothing much has changed now that the locks are,"   and now,   nothing will blur,   nothing goes blunt   because of how sharp you were   we broke all our beaks,   broke all our noses   on all the mirrors; i'm   flapping my wings,   flapping my arms   like i'm putting out a fire      and i   watch the way   the rain   gets pushed around   into shapes   by the curve   of the wiper blades;   how   the fields   are grey   when they're far away, and   are green   by the road      try standing all day   on the highest branches   try crossing your eyes   to see the hidden picture   i'm gonna see what you meant   when you said "i love you best"   i'm gonna shake all the trees   to make it snow once again   i'm gonna see it dissolve   into the pavement   how cold do you have to be   before it sticks to your   chest?      it's nice how things break,   so you can fix them   and feel really good   about fixing them;   it's nice how things end,   so you can feel good   about starting them   all over again;   it's nice how things break,   so you can fix them   and feel really good   about fixing them;   it's nice how things end,   so you can feel good   about starting them   all over again;   it's nice how things break,   so you can fix them   and feel really good   about fixing them;   it's nice how things end,   so you can feel good   about starting them   all over again;   it's nice how things break,   so you can fix them   and feel really good   (and i   watch the way   the rain   gets pushed around   into shapes   by the curve   of the wiper blades;   how   the fields   are grey   when they're far away, and   are green   by the road)   it's   nice   how   things   break, so   you can      try   not the breathe   so hard   there's glass between me   and you,   and now,   it's fogging up   i   can't see   the way   you're missing me,   what   it does   to your eyes      it's   nice   how   things   end, so   you can      trace   what you want   to say   on the condensation   some words,   a line   from your favourite song;   but write   it backwards, cos i'm   on the other side, and i   see the mirror   image      i   watch the way   the rain   gets pushed around   into shapes   by the curve   of the wiper blades   how   the fields   are grey   when they're far away   and   are green   by the road