And I miss the feel of it all.
If you'd, please, pour me another.
We wont always be these men, ya know.
Sitting alone at the backs of these bars,
or hiding in familiar basement corners
on these couches weve always known,
killing the same tired stories we've grown
and kicked around, having killed them all before.
And I
miss the innocence
in your eyes,
the light they gave to
the nights.
Our songs roll on like tangent thoughts,
the footsteps of late night walks, leading nowhere.
Our songs roll on like tangent thoughts,
without a target…
And I miss the feel of the night -
a chill in the air feathering over your skin,
as it rolled down your arms,
and you'd cross them to keep warm;
cross your fingers and share us a story,
smile alight with an innocent's dreams.
If you'd, please, tell us another.
We won't always be these kids, ya know.
Our songs roll on like tangent thoughts,
the footsteps of late night walks; lead me away.
Our songs roll on like tangent thoughts,
the footsteps of late night walks
aimless through the streets, we wander
on and on and on and on.
Songs roll on and on and on.
Songs roll on.
Songs roll off.
