Lyrics: Punching The Flowers

In his search

For the end of the circle

He kept arriving back at the start

Having fell every hurdle

And she tried to make him feel better

But he didn't wanna feel better

'Cause he was living for the wandering

His heart like a dead letter


It always seemed he was punching the flowers

Ruminating like a fatalist for hours

With a voice like the sound of slamming doors

In a voice like the sound of slamming doors


And it seemed

He had mildew on his soul

From standing at the coastline

Wishing it would swallow him whole

And she tried to console him

But he wanted to go it alone

Because he'd never been alone

Or felt the myth of control


It always seemed he was punching the flowers

Ruminating like a fatalist for hours

With a voice like the sound of slamming doors

In a voice like the sound of slamming doors

It always seemed he was punching the flowers

Taking for granted the sweetness till it soured

And when he spoke, it was the sound of slamming doors

All she heard was the sound of slamming doors


Words were sharpened like axes

And he swung them blindly around

With no regard for the dangers

And slashed her to the ground

And I'm not sure which is worse

If God laughs or he doesn't

And I'm not sure which is worse

If it was love or it wasn't

If it was love or it wasn't


It always seemed he was punching the flowers

Taking for granted the sweetness till it soured

And when he spoke, it was the sound of slamming doors

All she heard was the sound of slamming doors


All she heard was the sound of slamming doors

All she heard was the sound of slamming doors