We stand at South Station Crossed arms and forced conversation Neither wanting to take blame for some altercation I can't reclaim But we talk Yeah we talk Yeah we talk Cause a bit of farewell's bad luck We argue with crimson violet Hot stares and cold, flowered silence I guess that's our way, you and me Tender hearts, temper fits And that's the way it'll be Unless we try and change it But I hate Yeah I hate How it makes me still feel like a kid Ooh, ooh Ooh, ooh At the station I think of Scarlett Old friend from the farmer's market She's encyclopedic on greenery and seedlings And likes lots of people but keeps to herself After spending the year by a hospitable bed And now Scarlett has no one to argue with Oh, Scarlett has no one to argue with Oh, Scarlett has no one to argue with And I start to lose taste for our arguments Knowing Scarlett has no one to argue with