| From the foot of the bed
|
| To the cold Neapolitan sky
|
| From the back of my mind
|
| To the front of this tired disguise
|
| What’s with this moment?
|
| What’s with this feelin'?
|
| What’s with January and the locks on the door?
|
| How do I make my escape?
|
| How do I find what I’m lookin' for?
|
| From the memory of the walk
|
| From the pyramid of cans to the call
|
| From the tender touch of your lips
|
| To the straps slippin' off of your hips
|
| What’s with this moment?
|
| What’s with this feelin'?
|
| What’s with January and the locks on the door?
|
| How do I make my escape?
|
| How do I find what I’m lookin' for?
|
| Hospitals and lobby lust
|
| Truth in all of its disgust
|
| Love was never blind
|
| But I was
|
| Clouded glass and surface rust
|
| Voices I could never trust
|
| Love was never blind
|
| But I was
|
| From the paper
|
| To the glue
|
| On the letters written to you
|
| From the start of the affair
|
| To the last kiss we would share
|
| What’s with this moment?
|
| What’s with this feelin'?
|
| What’s with January and the locks on the door?
|
| How do I make my escape?
|
| How do I find what I’m lookin' for?
|
| Hospitals and lobby lust
|
| Truth in all of its disgust
|
| Love was never blind
|
| But I was
|
| Clouded glass and surface rust
|
| Voices I could never trust
|
| Love was never blind
|
| But I was |