Из альбома: Death of the Ghost
The twenty in her pocket
was burniung a hole right through her leg
I wish i could stop her
But I never knew quite what to say.
The doors in this place seem
to shut themselves these days.
I let you go,
I am to blame.
And the rhythms in her head
They never seem to fade.
Colored by the streets
she knows so well.
And the twenty in her pocket
is burning a hole right through the ground.
I guess we won't be seeing you around anymore.
So while you wait for the rush and light
I will wait for you one more night.