There's a certain uncertainty
About the abyssal night;
Wrapped in sheets of cold sweat,
Head propped up by ghosts.
When the whites of your eyes set
Like a full moon in the ebon sky,
And streetlights take you by the hands
Rushing you through piss-stained alleys,
You won't remember a thing.
You won't remember a thing.
For what it is
The night strips you,
Public and unashamed.
Takes your inhibitions and
Puts them in a safe place.
"You won't be needing these tonight."
That's why I wait for the
Uncertainty of the abyssal night.
To get my kicks with no baggage
And no certain memory of what
I'd left behind.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
There's a certain uncertainty
About the abyssal night;
Wrapped in sheets of cold sweat,
Head propped up by ghosts.
When the whites of your eyes set
Like a full moon in the ebon sky,
And streetlights take you by the hands
Rushing you through piss-stained alleys,
You won't remember a thing.
You won't remember a thing.
For what it is
The night strips you,
Public and unashamed.
Takes your inhibitions and
Puts them in a safe place.
"You won't be needing these tonight."
That's why I wait for the
Uncertainty of the abyssal night.
To get my kicks with no baggage
And no certain memory of what
I'd left behind.
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