New plans for an old winter, socks get thicker, hopes were thin.
Inside, kids are playing, they don't move, merely staying up late.
Pushing buttons, watching TV, mama's gone, out drinking.
She thinks she's younger, and she blames it on the man.
We've all got weeds between our flowers, we've all got bones beneath our clothes.
We don't show, hardly no one's running.
But you know that's the way it is.
That's just how it goes, is how it goes.
A new street, concrete houses, family home.
No one shows, empty gardens, lonely bedrooms.
From which no empathy grows.
And I drive, for hours and hours.
To find myself, a joyful soul.
But you and me, babe, we know the reason.
Why it's getting so damn cold.
We all got weeds.
Parades, between our flowers.
We all got bones beneath our clothes.
We don't show up, hardly no one's running.
But you know that's just how it goes.
We all got weeds.
Between our flowers.

We all got winds between our flowers
We all got bones beneath our clothes
We don't show up, hardly no one
But you know that's just how it goes
But you know that's just how it goes