We found a pictogram on telegraph in Grant Four fingers and roses, the impossible hand The summer trash is cooking in the grass And nothing feels the same And nothing feels the same No, I can't see your pain You put the painted picture of me on your wall I was so startled that my face was your decor Cause your love like half a year is making me so bored And nothing feels the same And nothing feels the same Now I can't see your pain Losing reality, I'm curling on the floor Maybe psychic pain is always better to ignore You're walking home from BART and you were sending to the stars And nothing feels the same And nothing feels the same Now I can't see your pain