La musique: death cab for cutie-transatlanticism

When I hold you everything is perfect. There is no job, bills, war or famine. I wish we could stay like that forever. Looking into each other's eyes, glassy with wet because we've run out of ways to say "I love you."
Wrapped in your arms, it's just dark enough to see the beauty in front of me. The music plays, nothing else exists outside this room, besides you and me, and I wouldn't have it any other way.