there is no memory of you
with the day on your face
just late night, bar light
a street lamp, a moonlit 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
when we connect
listen to sirens cry
ot finding their crime scenes
and the loose crooks 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
when we connect