Nothing ever happens
In our cul-de-sac
At the edge of the world
We stood and we watched
Our cities fade to black
No one spoke
Lost all our words

Went home that night as any other
To the same stucco houses lined neatly together

Resumed our routines the next morning
To school, to work, to home, to bed, to sleep, to nothing

Eighty weeks and counting
Mondays turn mundane
One eighty weeks and counting
Sundays feel more dazed
Four eighty weeks and counting
Still no one speaks, nothing to say

Some nights I think
About the girl across the street
The light she keeps on
In the dark's peak

Some days I glimpse
The girl across the street
The looks we exchange
When our eyes meet

Pebble tap, pebble tap
On her window
Let's get out of this town
Let's drive, let's go

But that never happens
In our cul-de-sac
At the edge of the world
We just fade to black