He used to tell me that he'd found Heaven,
Right here, in this parking lot,
On this ordinary-ordinary Earth.
I didn't believe him, but I know that he
Could see through my fake smile, thin as it was.
The thing is, Heaven is extraordinary-extraordinary,
So it couldn't possibly reside here, could it?
But maybe, just maybe, extraordinary-ordinary
Things are alright, too, as long as they seem to fit.