It's the kind of night when all that's left
is the waiting for whatever it is that seeks us
We've squandered our luck
and burned through mercy
and your eyes shine like stars that died
before their light ever made it
The bones of our lovesongs
are bleached and broken
and washed up on dirty beaches,
strewn about the sidewalks
of neighborhoods we're afraid to go.
The music of things is muted
and should we try and sing
the neighbors would complain.
People will try and tell you things
but there's not much that they know.
The moon's indifference
is a kind of mother
offering a love
we 'll never be equal to.
The hooker outside stands beneath it
and when I tell her I don't have a cigarette
It's just as well,
those things'll kill ya.
She spits and laughs like some
broken thing and says,
but then so will everything else.