Street lights flicker and die.
I think it's time to come inside.
It's been a while.
I want to hear your pointy shoes tapping on the hardwood.
These empty homes we can make them good.
We've got a sleeping bag, a wind-up clock and a puffy coat.
For most of us, ain't a lump in our throats.
We were sixteen people, setting up shop, praying that a little rain would keep us here another day.
Knock, yeah, knock.
We're coming to the city like we never forgot it.
To wait for trees, for the cover of leaves takes more time than we've got.
And I could drink the rain all day.
The roof will be ours.
Your hair will take hours to drain.
The echo of the walls makes you loud.
You're welcome to shout, but up to my ears the lightest sounds will come out.
Now we're just two people living in a house.
Our chimney throwing signs.
The garden growing rings.
And wind to carry everything.
