I was never any good at saying goodnight
or goodbye for that matter
My hands are clenching this mug,
willing it to keep me awake.

My night won't end,
and I promise I'll figure out who I am,
if I can only stay up for 15 more minutes.
Witching hour, 12:34 syndrome,
what's behind the curtain of conscious number 3?

I'd spend my whole life hiding my heart away,
if I knew it wouldn't burn whenever I thought about
you dropping me off at the train station,
skyscrapers and kissed foreheads.
Every single time, it just sounds more honest
when Brandi says it.

They say you can read tea leaves.
I'd rather ground my fist into coffee
and see what truth lies underneath the soil.