|
There is no memory of you |
|
With the day on your face |
|
Just late night, bar light |
|
A street lamp, a movement bedside |
|
Does that feel right? |
|
Falling apart before sunrise |
|
As if we're afraid that |
|
The sun on our skin |
|
Will start fires |
|
We don't care |
|
We don't seem to care |
|
Each of these nights |
|
Seem to connect |
|
Each of these nights |
|
Seem to connect |
|
Each of these nights |
|
When we connect |
|
Listen to sirens cry |
|
Not finding their crime scenes |
|
And the loose sparks outside |
|
Their cat calls and ill means |
|
Some kinks are never |
|
Meant to be worked out |
|
The more that you feel them |
|
The more you need their doubt |
|
We don't care |
|
We don't seem to care |
|
Each of these nights |
|
Seem to connect |
|
We don't care |
|
We don't seem to care |
|
Each of these nights |
|
Seem to connect |
|
Each of these nights |
|
Seem to connect |
|
Each of these nights |
|
When we connect |
|
Each of these nights |
|
Seem to connect |
|
Each of these nights |
|
When we connect |
|
Each of these nights |
|
Seem to connect |
|
Each of these nights |
