Scorpions scitter over my feet and I stumble- doyouthinki'mbeingobvious?

Questions run up and down between the silence, illuminated by the street-lamp lights. You've got your head turned away from me

so I can't see what's written in your eyes.

Prisms of color dance around you hands, and I want to take them in my own; spark magic between our fingertips and make music with the wind.

Why don't you dance with me anymore?

I don't know how to make it clear that I can't do this on my own, and babe, you can't make progress in the dark. We keep getting stuck in corners, backed up against stone walls, and the truth is, you're not as high up as you think you are.

Take that cigarette of your lips and talk to me. Your lips don't look good stained with ash.