Bayside

It's getting cold.
Thought it was too soon to tell but it was terribly old
and as the heartbeat slows to a heartless crawl.
The lights went out,
The lights went out
and darkness filled the house on a tiring night
under Long Island skies.
I thought I'd known the consequence,
but sweetness, can you believe this?
This mess we've made of it.
This mess we've made of it.
In years to come it might make sense
but sweetness, can you believe this?
What's become of it?
Just what's become of it?
Well if you hear this and you think you're ready,
meet me in Montauk where we'll write out in the sand,
"Here lies the destiny of two hurt souls afraid to be cured again."
That could be our epitaph.
I thought I'd known the consequence,
but sweetness, can you believe this?
This mess we've made of it.
This mess we've made of it.
In years to come it might make sense
but sweetness, can you believe this?
Just what's become of it?
Just what's become of it?
I thought I'd known the consequence,
but sweetness, can you believe this?
This mess we've made of it.
This mess we've made of it.
In years to come it might make sense
but sweetness, can you believe this?
What's become of it?
Just what's become of it?
I know (I know...)
I thought I'd known the consequence,
but sweetness, can you believe this?
This mess we've made of it.
This mess we've made of it.
In years to come it might make sense
but sweetness, did you foresee this?
What's become of it?
What's become...