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Out late in the night,
when the moon is breaking down.
But the whole night's still believing,
it's endlessly round.
Sewing through the music.

Coming down, I don't believe you.

Sometimes, could be an hour but it feels frozen and open.
Same way, it's still when you're dreaming in the morning.
I bloom and flake,
in the outward comes an ache.
Like if I flew out the door,
and ran right to you.
It wouldn't shake the storm.

Coming down, I don't believe you.

Out late in the night,
when the moon is breaking down.
But the whole night's still believing,
it's endlessly round.

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