I wear your scars on my knuckles, baby, to keep you soft
It’s not like us to be given things. We ain’t got much
This city sleeps in a pattern of broken junk
But nights like this, it don’t matter. All this dirty fun
We’ll grow high not up
These books and bars and this honesty, they’re all I’ve got
We drive on drugs, feeling everything until we get lost
This city sleeps in a pattern of broken junk
But nights like this, it don’t matter. All this dirty fun
We’ll grow high not up
I watch your palm hug your guitar. It buzzes like a bomb
I hardly talk. My lips are carved with lust and clumsy thoughts
Who called the cops?
We’ll never get caught. We’ll never get caught
We’ll never get caught
