You said you hate the sound
Of the busses on the ground.
You said you hate the way they scrape their brakes all over town.
Said pretend it’s whales,
Keeping their voices down.
Such were the grounds for divorce of our love.
On the radio
And the bouncing bodies’ drone,
Found eighteen reasons I can’t pick up on the phone.
Said look at the clouds,
It’s a show all on its own.
Such were the grounds for divorce I know.
But the dialing is dead,
We hit it on the head.
It looked like a wedding cake.
But the dialing is dead,
We hit it on the head.
It looked like a newlywed.
But I look at the lovers
In the telephone stands.
And the way they move and the way move their hands.
And I look at their babies,
And their tiny little hands.
And the way they get loved and the way they get loved.
Oh look at the lovers
In the telephone stands.
And the way they move and the way move and the way move their hands.
Said you hate the sound
Of the busses on the ground.
Said you hate the way they scrape their brakes all over town.
Said pretend it’s whales,
And keeping their voices down.
Such were the grounds for divorce I know.
Looked like a newlywed.
On the radio,
And the bouncing bodies’ drone.
Found eighteen reasons I can’t pick up on the phone.
Said look at the clouds,
It’s a show all on its own.
Such were the grounds such were the grounds for divorce I know.