in the city we don't know yet, cross the bridges not yet burned

with her shoes in her hands, i am watching her dance

i've got a slot at eye level like a speakeasy door

i do recall now the smell of the rain, fresh on the pavement

and the nighttime was the worst, it shows you all the things you've lost

like autumn turns leaves winter will breathe cold on our necks

screaming, crying, perfect storms