The loves were playing in the yard Giving goosebumps to all the Sunday summer trees Our hands were eternal in the wings Moving so softly, nobody can see Against your morning skin Well, it's shy like two young lovers walking by There's a soft strange kind of art Giving company to all the lonely hearts There's a hundred cigarettes on the ground And our clothes are still hanging around And it's nice to be ugly in each other's arms So we can grow over all the things we were before