A Scale, a Mirror, and These Indifferent Clocks by Bright Eyes

Here is a scale. Weigh it out and you will find, easily, more than sufficient doubt that these colors
you see were picked in advance by some careful hand with an absolute concept of beauty. They
are smeared and these blurs come in random order to color the eyes of your former lovers. Hers
were green like July except when she cried they were red. Now I know a disease that these
Doctors can't treat. You contract it the day you accept all you see is a mirror and a mirror is all it
can be. A reflection of something we're missing. And language just happened, it was never
planned, and it's inadequate to describe where I am in the room of my house where the light has
never been waiting for this day to end. And these clocks keep unwinding and completely ignore
everything that we hate or adore. Once the page of a calendar is turned it's no more. So tell me
then, what was it for? Oh tell me, what was it for?