From the opposition of this room
We're throwing furniture around
At the realization of the gloom

Spinning porcelain upon a loom
To reflect the silence of sound
From the opposition of this room

Wee make a schitzophrenic groom
Who sews himself a bridal gown
At the realization of his gloom

Throwing fists up at the moon
Mocking how it looks so round
From the opposition of this room

So many slip into the tomb
Constantly lost but never found
In the desperation of our gloom

We can see the end is coming soon
And what we should've when we first frowned
From the isolation of each room
We realize impending doom