Everyone knew the end of our story
Before I even saw a flag
(Ha, how sad is that?)
Out of the blue you quit writing poetry
And telling me how your day was
I've waited so long to say that
I can't save you from the way you stand there
Waiting for your plants to die
And you wonder why
Aren't you growing tired of scattering remains
And waiting to see if the weatherman's gonna change his tie
'Cause green means summer
And fuschia brings the rain, they say
Well do you recall
The color he wore on the day
The day we passed away
Twenty degrees and she's refusing my sweater
Says she's "better off this way"
(That doesn't mean anything—what does that—what do you mean)
Well there's superstitions and then there's you
With your fetish for noticing the blemishes
Your only defense is your horoscope said to be a pessimist
I can't hate you
But the way you made me feel like a losing bet
I can't forgive just yet
Aren't you growing tired of scattering remains
And waiting to see if the weatherman's gonna change his tie
'Cause green means summer
And fuschia brings the rain, they say
Well do you recall
The color he wore on the day
The day we passed away
When I didn't wanna be an artist if it meant
That I'd become the hardest man to love
To the girl who's shaking the eight ball
A little too much
Aren't you growing tired of scattering remains
And waiting to see if the weatherman's gonna change his tie
'Cause green means summer
And fuschia brings the rain, they say
Well do you recall
The color he wore on the day
Oh, as I recall
It was a lavender mauve on the day
The day we passed away