It goes so quiet when the record ends. There's no hidden track, no lofty peak. My eyes ache from being forced to stay open to witness your bare hips and naked feet. If you play the trapeze artist and I'll be the mathematician. If you hold tight, and I will count. I will count the number of paces to the guitar that stands in drop d. I will count the number of books that line the shelf. I will count the number of seconds I can hold my breath. Just as long as you hold tight.