Shuffle up and get down low,
the calender says it's a different day
and a different year,
but it only ever feels like it
during the day.

Sitting here tonight, I'm typing
into a different phone,
drinking at a different bar,
but somehow it's essentially the
same night that I've been living
for ten years...maybe more.

The same words, the same feeling
of a knife in the heart, the same
Irish jigs playing through busted speakers, and what I think I'll find somewhere in the haze still eluding.

All flowing back into a night so often repeated in so many places...Virginia, Washington, Arizona, Florida, even the night in Nogales I never mention.

It all comes back to girls with razors in their purses, the boys who put them there, and the unseen hand that has pushed them all.