Between us
and the hours
there is no poetry, lyrically
there is no poetry, lyrically
It’s hard
to describe this dance of ours
Hour by hour as there is no 1, 2, 3
Hour by hour as there is no 1, 2, 3
The pen
slips on the paper like feet on muddy floors
This ain’t
me
There is no 1, 2, 3
There is no 1, 2, 3
Stuck to
the bar I am cracking jokes, nuts and writing numbers on coasters
There is no 1, 2, 3
Trying them as pickup lines, I ask her: ‘is this our number’?
Trying them as pickup lines, I ask her: ‘is this our number’?
We were
never one, she said
Looking at
the empty first slot in the jukebox with a little bit of regret
She won’t
remember the lyrics I sent her
Doing time in the detention center
There is no poetry
Doing time in the detention center
There is no poetry
The ear
worm fell from her ear canal
It couldn’t
beat the drum
Skintight
like her dress
My head pressed to her chest all I hear is sand storms fleeting
Our eyes
lock, I try to put my hands on her figures
Just couldn't face her.
Just couldn't face her.
My keys
were minor spending time behind bars
It's five to
twelve and she shakes as she turns
She says, I ain’t
got time for this
Folding prison
bars to paper planes as I watch time fly away
