The Nights

The nights,
pushing up against one another
all for a liquid in a glass.
You’re like a tiny spider,
on a brick mass
Spinning a web, with a friend,
To catch us,
as we walk around lost.

playing on the stereo.

So catch me dear.
Your utters are unclear.
Buy me a drink,
that's what I think.
So we elope amongst tar and empty bottles,
Cigarette butts and vomit.
Spinning a web, with a friend,
To catch us,
as we walk around lost.

playing on the stereo.

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