E.M.P.T.Y
The Clientele
When I'm riding home at night, I get in so tired
Till the sores and bows that spell
E-M-P-T-Y
But driving west now, half past five
My skin is cut, my hands are knives
I could be anyone alive
But I just can't fit
And it's too late to quit
When the night it comes to me
I wonder if the days I've lived through count
With the world strung like a rosary
Through faces moving in the crowd
What is the color, and the number
When happiness begins?
When the night waits in the laurels
There's a dream
I've found a clarity I've never known
Fag-end weeks before I left for school
The darkness in the pylons
And the snowcap creosote
Canceling the faces that we knew
Did they get the light inside your eyes?
Those simple words, those lovers' sighs
The hand is dealt, the card is played
But I just can't fit
And it's too late to quit
I saw them and I knew them all
Inside a sheet of flame
I saw them and I knew them all
Inside a sheet of flame
When I 'm riding home at night, I get in so tired
Till the sores and bows that spell
E-M-P-T-Y
E-M-P-T-Y
E-M-P-T-Y
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