| It's getting cold. | |
| Thought it was too soon to tell but it was terribly old and as the heartbeat slows to a heartless crawl. | |
| The lights went out, | |
| The lights went out and darkness filled the house on tiring night under a | |
| Long Island sky. | |
| I thought | |
| I'd known the consequence, but sweetness, can you believe this? | |
| Mess we've made of it. | |
| This mess we've made of it. | |
| In years to come it might make sense, but sweetness, can you believe this? | |
| This what's become of it? | |
| What's become of it? | |
| If you hear this and you think you're ready, then meet me in | |
| Montauk where we'll write out in the sand, "Here lies the destiny of 2 hurt souls afraid to be cured again." | |
| That could be our epitaph. | |
| I thought | |
| I'd known the consequence, but sweetness, can you believe this? | |
| Mess we've made of it. | |
| This mess we've made of it. | |
| In years to come it might make sense, but sweetness, can you believe this? | |
| This what's become of it? | |
| What's become of it? [x2] | |
| I know... | |
| I thought | |
| I'd know the consequence, but sweetness, can you believe this? | |
| Mess we've made of it. | |
| This mess we've made of it. | |
| In years to come it might make sense, but sweetness, did you foresee this? | |
| What's become of it? | |
| Just what's become... |
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