The lights are on in your room so tell me who's your friend?
And the lights are burning in the little house on East End
And I remembered who I was and what I came here for
The moon was caught high in the branches of the sycamore
And on my neck I felt the cold wind
And it licked around my ears and it asked me to ask you, yeah, who's your friend?
And the lights came down over Pomona, blazed again before your front door
The moon was caught high in the branches of the sycamore