the exits lines are scrawled out under your eyes,
this place has left its scars like a playground drama scene.
my siamese in disease, we share the symptoms;
our smiles draw the same space into our eyes.
i've memorised the exits,
and you know all the back roads,
let's leave the notes and make a run for it.
so start the car
who knows how far we'll go but i know
we've got a late reservation
on an early departure.
so i place my hand in your hand you smile and say
"i'm not coming back this time".
my siamese in disease, we share the symptoms;
but i'm still tongue-ing the cure around my mouth.
