And if the snow buries my neighbourhood.
And if my parents are crying, then I'll dig a tunnel,
from my window to yours.
You climb out the chimney and meet me in the middle of our town.
And since there's no one else around,
we let our hair grow long and forget all we used to know.
Then our skin gets thicker from living out in the cold.
You change all the lead sleeping in my head.
As the day grows dim, I hear you sing a golden hymn.
Then, we tried to name our babies,
but we forgot all the names we used to know.
But sometimes we remember our bedrooms, and our parents' bedrooms,
and the bedrooms of our friends.
Then we think of our parents,
well, whatever happened to them.
Purify the colours, purify my mind.
And spread the ashes of the colours over this heart of mine.

Tunnels - The Arcade Fire

Remember when our so-called friend would not call out to you while tumbling loosely out a hole punched through your home? It’s pretty clear, though you could hear, you truly finally knew, in time, he’d tell his tale the way he’d like it told. Now he isn’t on the phone, and his story might as well be so. Well, loving is as loving does, and I’d say we should know, because we both have loved, have lost, and are alone. Your face’s falling tears, to me they’re lovely and they’re dear, though you don’t love me and it’s clear that I will never see you in my arms. There’s no room in your heart for even this finely-sharpened dart; although I had started to think there might be hope, it isn’t so. So wake up, make up some new song again around the same tune. The water cools, the leaves they fall, the sun it bends, the summer ends; our so-called friend doesn’t need you. So proceed out the door and down the street. December’s lying near, but in the oven’s heat this house is now a home. Sixty days of trips and stays you took to tell me, dear, that you cannot love me because you secretly still love a stone.

Song of our so-called-friend - Okkervil River