Pictures Of Us The Walkmen

Pictures of us
In the spring
We were so young
Are we still, are we still
Scattered around on the ground, in the heaped
Dry leaves?

It doesn't matter
It doesn't matter
It doesn't matter

Pictures of us
On the beach
Technicolor scars
And the thing would smudge your eyes away

'Kay, it doesn't matter
It doesn't matter
It doesn't matter

You'll mark yourself
And be depressed