friday night and the city's cold, im never gonna make it out of here.
just one more laugh and then the joke gets old and all our words are fucking insincere and its in these streets we've walked that our stories told, written down in cracks and broken glass.

and its in these things im found when i am lost.
in the creeping, haunted memories of the ast.
so fuck you and your sleepless nights, im headed for the nearest burning bridge.
so fuck you and your stupid fights, theres better things to do in life than this.

so i'll try my best to help and build it up, but there's no more bricks and this tired, broken house is worn and weak and floors all creak and i just dont have the patience to sit right here and try to work it out.

so talk to me when the timings right and the moon is high and your spirits are falling low. remind me of all the sleepless nights when the city had heart and a clean soul.

it's over...september.