There's a pile of possums in the fireplace Maybe I'm going blind They're playing dead like firewood There's a fire burning in the Old Fourth Ward Maybe I'm going blind It's the Fourth, they're fireworks. Maybe you're not standing on my front porch waiting for me No front door knocking over the silence of Psalms turning Maybe I'm hallucinating about the way that I thought it would go Woah-u-woah There's no Chinese Takeout on the road home anymore Gemma's got a broken phone, but I hear mine ringing even when she's gone, and I Fell in love on the fortieth of June in the fourteenth hour of a twelve hour Harry Potter Marathon sitting with you Maybe you're not sending me another letter that I better go and open up No conversation, it's the competition of our text game blowing up Into me hallucinating about the way that I thought it would go Woah-u-woah There's a breeze blowing in Complementary from Antarctica There's a brood of vipers in the backyard But Patrick's on a redeye from Ireland Maybe you're not coming home no more, no fire burning No complementary compliments from me Cause I'm hallucinating about the way that I thought it would go Woah-u-woah