Impossible Hand

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