Quarter Moon,
On a city growing thick
With good advice that won't stick.
From the ballrooms to the suburbs,
abandoned mines
Atlantis may be rising but
We're all out of time.
The colored lights
On the fire escape,
And bodies move behind drapes,
And the light isn't even
And we're safer in pairs.
We're no match, for what is waiting
For each of us out there.
Whistle baby, while we walk.
Don't say anything, do not talk.
The journey is over, it is time to exhale.
Wherever we were going, we're already there.
So over the turnstyles,