this is turning into a song... it's really a slow, smokey, closing time at the lounge, 3am jazz singer kinda thing
--the editor
last night
mar 24, apr 5, 2009
we turned the bars into hotels
we drank until the mission bells
our voices rose and then they fell
I tried so hard to be polite
last night…
we walked all night around the tower
we talked a million miles an hour
the moon became a fossil flower
pouring shots of light
last night...
there's ever only one
it disappears in morning sun
what to do when you know it's done
last night…
I've got secrets that I can not keep
I have this tendency to weep
my lonely ghosts don't let me sleep
but you made it all feel right
I'm standing on the brink… I know
I'm broken, leaking ink… I know
If I could keep myself from thinking
then I might regain the moment
we were standing there in the dark
watching satellites turn in to arcs
gasoline waits for its spark
nothing left to fight
last night...
last night...
there's ever only one
it disappears in morning sun
what to do when you know it's done
last night…
there's ever only one
it disappears in morning sun
what to do when you know it's done
last night…
last night…
last night…
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