The time is exactly two forty-five,
And I’m out here alone
Below the February sky
Just trying to find a way to feel alive.
-
You know what that’s like?

I got my headphones on,
Dressed to un-impress,
Playing my current favorite song
With my hair all in a mess.

And you’re on my mind again,
Like an imaginary friend
That I just can’t seem to grasp.
Are you fiction, are you fact?
-
You’re everything that I lack.

And I’m in a place that I can’t describe,
Swaying to the music
At two forty-five.
The longer I’m alone,
The longer I’ll survive,
So I’ll dance the night away
Beneath this February sky.

And then the cops drive by
On this cool February night,
And you’re still not in sight -
All I can see is flashing lights.

And they stop and ask if everything’s alright,
Ask how many drinks I’ve had this night.
I just keep swaying and sigh
Because I’ll never get it right,
-
And all of this is just a waste of their time.

So I say,
“Sorry officer,
I’m not drunk,
I’m just psychotic.”

And they look into my eyes,
And much to their surprise,
I’m simply sober, and alive
Below the February sky.

Then I take their hands and pull them with me,
Although they can’t hear the song,
And they try to fight, but I don’t let them,
I just laugh and sing along.

The time is roughly three o’five,
And I’m being detained
Under the silver moonlight.
And the February sky watches on…

I guess you’ll never know quite what it’s like,
No, you’ll never know what this feels like.

I hate night-time.
It’s cold and dark and there’s so much ******* light pollution
You can’t even see the stars.
There’s no hope.
You can’t even see tomorrow because by midnight,
Tomorrow has already come
Yet it has hardly been.

I love night-time.
We sing, we dance, we stay up until that old cliché:
The morning light arrives and it’s good,
Another night wasted.
- Wasting time isn’t necessarily time wasted. -
Then the day carries on itself and all I can think is,
What will happen tomorrow night?

It might be cold and dark and hopeless
But it’s fun
And who cares about sleep?