Clothes and accessories form a faint pattern of guilt on a floor.
There used to be sketches, charcoal on paper, easy to alter or store on top of all the rest.
Phone calls and sudden falls, in haste leaving for the solace of airport halls.
It's outlined in ink now or in acrylic on canvas, a picture that'll stay and a weight for coming days to carry.
To the beat of our own blood we dance past the final curtain call, past regret and the angst that we get for stabbing our own.
To the beat of our own blood we dance along the lines of our bones.
Out with history, in with relief and ease.
Goodbye to bright spot lights and to the sound of a thousand peoples lies,
to late night parties in hotel rooms, to later night travels on subway coaches.
Ended up by the cove, with the back to a wall, not knowing if someone would come at all.
Patience proved to be right this time, a familiar sight and the night set the world on fire.
To the beat of our own blood we dance past the final curtain call, past regret and the angst that we get for stabbing our own.
To the beat of our own blood we dance along the lines of our bones.
Out with history, in with relief and ease.
As the skyline is glowing, we don't know what's coming.
But the pages they'll turn, the pages they'll turn.
But as the skyline is glowing we'll be the same beings.
And the pages they'll turn, the pages they'll turn.
To the beat of our own blood we dance past the final curtain call, past regret and the angst that we get for stabbing our own.
To the beat of our own blood we dance along the lines of our bones.
Out with history, in with relief and ease.