| It’s getting cold
|
| Thought it was too soon to tell
|
| But it was terribly old
|
| And as the heartbeat slows
|
| To a heartless crawl
|
| The lights went out
|
| The lights went out
|
| And darkness filled the house
|
| On a tiring night under Long Island sky
|
| I thought I’d known the consequence
|
| Sweetness, can you believe this?
|
| Mess we’ve made of it
|
| This mess we’ve made of it
|
| In years to come, it might make sense
|
| Sweetness, can you believe this?
|
| So what’s become of it? |
| What’s become of it?
|
| If you hear this and you think you’re ready
|
| Then meet me at Montauk
|
| Where we’ll write out in the sand
|
| «Here lies the destiny of 2 hurt souls
|
| Afraid to be cured again.»
|
| That could be our epitaph
|
| I thought I’d known the consequence
|
| Sweetness, can you believe this?
|
| Mess we’ve made of it
|
| This mess we’ve made of it
|
| In years to come, it might make sense
|
| Sweetness, can you believe this?
|
| So what’s become of it? |
| What’s become of it?
|
| I thought I’d known the consequence
|
| Sweetness, can you believe this?
|
| Mess we’ve made of it
|
| This mess we’ve made of it
|
| In years to come, it might make sense
|
| Sweetness, can you believe this?
|
| So what’s become of it? |
| What’s become of it?
|
| I know
|
| I thought I’d know the consequence
|
| Sweetness, can you believe this?
|
| Mess we’ve made of it
|
| Mess we’ve made of it
|
| In years to come, it might make sense
|
| Sweetness, did you foresee this?
|
| So what’s become of it? |
| Just what’s become |