the couple, november 2009.

part one.
he's got a black hat on.
burning eyes and a grimace to match.
he's trying to be someone he's not.
maybe he's a jazz player,
maybe he's the next frank sinatra
or maybe he's just trying to run from something
he wants to forget.

with the bright lights,
loud music busting through the speakers,
filled with whiskey, rum and cocaine,
he's out to lose himself tonight
because nothing makes sense since she left.

part two.
she's in the club tonight.
working that red satin number,
the one that drives all the boys wild.
with all eyes on her,
she's the one in control tonight.

his skin on her skin, she keeps dancing for this stranger,
makes him believe he's her number one
she's gotten good at this game,
one more shot down, she's out to lose herself tonight
because nothing feels right since he fucked that whore.

part three.
love's just a game -
so they turn the other way,
filling themselves up with things that leave them numb
they'd rather feel nothing at all
than remember the pain of loss.

part four.
the party keeps raging on,
with the disco ball glittering
and wine glasses filled to the brink,
she grabs the vodka and suddenly those voices surround her,
they're all ringing in empty tones.

for this stranger, she keeps on dancing,
losing herself in the music.
maybe it's the vodka or the acid,
but suddenly she remembers his face.
she hates it. she misses it. she can't decide.

part five.
there's a crash of a cymbal and
a hard pound of the drums
and suddenly he can't stop himself from screaming out her name.

the city is alive tonight
but all he feels is death inside
he's tried to run so many times,
but no matter how many roads or how strong the drug,
she's with him wherever he goes.

part six.
her shift is over, she's walking out now
the cold air hits her like a knife,
the vodka's wearing out
and she's feeling the loss.
one more line of cocaine, just one more.

she's looking for something, anything to fill his hole.

part seven.
they're both inside now, two different apartments,
two different lives, so intertwined.
they're left with the loss and the pain,
and no matter how many flings or how many drugs,
they're with each other wherever they go.

all that envelops them is the darkness
and the silence of the telephone is the only sound.