I wear your scars on my knuckles, baby, to keep you soft It’s not like us to be given things. We ain’t got much This city sleeps in a pattern of broken junk But nights like this, it don’t matter. All this dirty fun We’ll grow high not up
These books and bars and this honesty, they’re all I’ve got We drive on drugs, feeling everything until we get lost This city sleeps in a pattern of broken junk But nights like this, it don’t matter. All this dirty fun We’ll grow high not up
I watch your palm hug your guitar. It buzzes like a bomb I hardly talk. My lips are carved with lust and clumsy thoughts Who called the cops? We’ll never get caught. We’ll never get caught We’ll never get caught
