When I go home alone, I drive past the place where I was born and the places that I used to drink. Young and drunk and stumbling in the street outside, the joiner's arms like foals unsteady on their feet. With the art students and the boys in bands, high on Ian holding hands with someone that I just met. I thought it doesn't get better than this. There can't be nothing better than this. Better than this. We climbed onto the roof of the museum and someone made love in the bar. And I forgot my name on the way back to my mother's house. With your black pool eyes and your bitten lips, the world is at your fingertips. It doesn't get better than this. What else could be better than this? Oh, do you know what I have seen? I have seen the fields aflame. And everything I ever did was just another way to scream your name over and over and over and over again. Over and over and over and over again. Oh, oh, oh, oh. Oh, oh, oh, oh. And we're just children wanting children of our own. I want a space to watch things grow. But did I dream too big? Do I have to let it go? And what if one day there is no such thing as snow? Oh, God, what do I know? And I don't know anything except the green is so green. And there's a special kind of sadness that seems to come with spring. Oh, do you know what I have seen? I have seen the fields aflame. And everything I ever did was just another way to scream your name over and over and over and over again. Over and over and over and over again. Oh, do you know what I have seen? I have seen the fields aflame. But everything I ever did was just another way to scream your name.