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the cobblestones flare orange under the watchful eyes of the streetlamps
as a cold rain pours down over their twilight beauty
the street's ending and there's no place to go
but forward
one more hobo going half-naked under the watchful eyes of the cops
as a warm stain of guilt crosses over his face
he's happy in the moment but despairs when it comes to
his future
she hangs on to his arm tightly under the watchful eyes of the world
as the hot smell of love washes across her body
does it have to have a point, or can it just
feel good?
briefly he wonders where the red rose has gone
and he's a little bit fuzzy on the white
the one has been left where the neon signs shone
but the other's up North for the night
his meandering mind has held back the grasp of the boredom for now
as he fumbles for his keys before the green door
they slip easily into place and he plunges through to
kiss the floor.
as a cold rain pours down over their twilight beauty
the street's ending and there's no place to go
but forward
one more hobo going half-naked under the watchful eyes of the cops
as a warm stain of guilt crosses over his face
he's happy in the moment but despairs when it comes to
his future
she hangs on to his arm tightly under the watchful eyes of the world
as the hot smell of love washes across her body
does it have to have a point, or can it just
feel good?
briefly he wonders where the red rose has gone
and he's a little bit fuzzy on the white
the one has been left where the neon signs shone
but the other's up North for the night
his meandering mind has held back the grasp of the boredom for now
as he fumbles for his keys before the green door
they slip easily into place and he plunges through to
kiss the floor.
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