At the center of the world 
There's a statue of a girl.
She is standing near a well 
With a bucket bare and dry.

I went and looked her in the eyes 
And she turned me into sand.
This clumsy form that I despise 
It scattered easy in her hand.

And came to rest upon a beach, 
With a million others there.
We sat and waited for the sea 
To stretch out so that we could disappear 

Into the endlessness of blue,
Into the horror of the truth.
You see, we are far less than we knew.
Yeah, we are far less than we knew

But we knew what we could taste.
Girls found honey to drench our hands.
Men cut marble to mark our graves.
Said we'll need something to remind us of 
All the sweetness that has passed through us
(fresh sangria and lemon tea).
The priests dressed children for a choir
(white-robed small voices praise Him)
But found no joy in what was sung.
The funeral had begun 

In the middle of the day
When you drive home to your place 
From that job that makes you sleep
Back to the thoughts that keep you awake 

Long after night has come to claim 
Any light that still remains 
In the corner of the frame 
That you put around her face.

Two pills just weren't enough.
The alarm clock's going off 
But you're not waking up.
This isn't happening, happening, happening, 
Happening, happening. It is.