Gang
Quelle: Spotify
Can you call it what you see when you're reaching for the light, found again before you leave, holding back
enough to try, overheard talking down from somewhere, just above, to take you in, then throw you out, when
the open evenings come through the years you're due to spend in the promise of the vice, pouring shares to
weathered friends ditching out at closing time, caving in and trailing off?
Will they find the fight to run, doubled back until they've gone where the open evenings come shaking in the
coldest hours kept just out of mind, whispered where they wouldn't go, tying off the broken lines that sent you
on as if to show something waiting in the night, facing up and looking in, that you'd finally had too much, at
last, to be?
It won't begin until the open evenings come.
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