The city stays high, all night. Lit up and shivering. Like a pinball table of fireflies. An echo of home, on the edge of life. Shot through the veins of an angel.
I saw a friend that I once knew at a funeral. He took the time out to be seen. His eyes kept glancing to the hour hand on the gold watch. That he'd been given by a magazine.
The lights still in our eyes,. We're leaving this whole fairground behind,. It's a dream that's going cold.. . The circus never dies,. The act forever haunts these skies,.