it's such a strange vine, wrapped around my neck, all twisted up between my steps, between my steps, I'm tripping and falling over, things we just couldn't get over, I tried my best, to get it off my chest, songs we never wrote, seeds they wouldn't sow, we're taking it all to the end, and we're planting our own garden, the sun came while you were shining, the tide flew while we were writing symphonies in the key of B, songs that had lost their luster, finally they found their color, we made jokes about starting a new band, six years of working this old plan, maybe I'll make a home with you, it's been a straight life, of this preacher living, these brake lights and city limits, I can't afford the truth, we are two indians in the same canoe, maybe I'll just start something new, we're taking it all to the end, and we're planting our own garden.