Punching the Flowers 歌词

In his search For the end of the circle He kept arriving back at the start Having fell every hurdle And she tried to make him feel better But he didn't wanna feel better ‘Cause he was living for the wandering His heart like a dead letter It always seemed he was punching the flowers Ruminating like a fatalist for hours With a voice like the sound of slamming doors In a voice like the sound of slamming doors And it seemed He had mildew on his soul From standing at the coastline Wishing it would swallow him whole And she tried to console him But he wanted to go it alone Because he'd never been alone Or felt the myth of control It always seemed he was punching the flowers Ruminating like a fatalist for hours With a voice like the sound of slamming doors In a voice like the sound of slamming doors It always seemed he was punching the flowers Taking for granted the sweetness til it soured And when he spoke it was the sound of slamming doors All she heard was the sound of slamming doors Words were sharpened like axes And he swung them blindly around With no regard for the dangers And slashed her to the ground And I'm not sure which is worse If God laughs or he doesn't And I'm not sure which is worse If it was love or it wasn't If it was love or it wasn't It always seemed he was punching the flowers Taking for granted the sweetness til it soured And when he spoke it was the sound of slamming doors All she heard was the sound of slamming doors All she heard was the sound of slamming doors All she heard was the sound of slamming doors