Nothing کے بول

Flowers made of bread I never thought You'd be the one To choke me in my bed Now there's cotton Up your nose How are you supposed To breathe on your own I never wanted To take the last ride I never wanted To see your last smile And now you Say nothing you say nothing Say nothing hear everything Little dog could climb A tree And get away from all This insanity It could climb Up on the roof And get a bird's eye view Of everything Watch the child across The street She doesn't really have a Name, they call her girl While standing in my soup I never really understood Why my feet stayed wet When I was nine years old All the pictures On the walls Were your match boxes The last ride was short And your last smile Was sick and crooked