| Dusk hits and the whole world gets to be
|
| «Knock three times, tell them who sent you
|
| And who you came to see»
|
| I could find you in any dive
|
| In any one of these dark streets
|
| In a vinyl booth with a stranger
|
| Dripping insincerities
|
| And all those promises to me you mumbled
|
| I guess you’ll keep them eventually
|
| To someone else
|
| Hey, «what the hell?», I said
|
| Now we’re all former friends treated like guests
|
| In our very own home
|
| As we stare and wonder how someone young
|
| Could get dumber than you
|
| But hey that’s what they say about the divorce rate
|
| The kids grow up not trusting anything
|
| But I won’t forget the day when you came to me backstage
|
| Just to see what I would say about your newest mistake
|
| Duck hits and the whole world gets to see
|
| You hide out in some Green Point diner
|
| With all the indie rockers and the graphic designers
|
| Diving through the alleys of these dark streets
|
| With a vinyl smile dripping with insincerity
|
| Hell you sure fooled me
|
| But hey that’s they say
|
| About two products of the divorce rate
|
| And if this fate is ours to embrace
|
| You can come find me backstage
|
| But I won’t be anyone’s mistake |