and on this one nightstand, next to the money left
sits a note left after a one-night stand
it's next to a half filled and lipstick smeared cocktail
and it reads, it breathes: was it good for you
I'm telling you the truth and I'm telling it all
doesn't it seem like the writing on the wall
twenty-one years old and life seems to end up being quoted
in every line, in every street name
and every time I get lucky with a stranger
when life becomes filled with remember when's
only ghosts in every bed and on every corner
of streets that are networked and locked in a flyby night town
where the words, loaded and cocked, rarely refer to a gun
