Our empty room, our deserted streetnWe intersect, overlapnUnacquainted, but not unfamiliarnIt's tenuous, but not uncomfortablenWe speak of petty differences, our tongues tied in dialectnIn this room, it's always nightnAll shadows and darkened alleywaysnAll those songs of alienation and loss more or less add up to thisnThe length of our sentence simply meant that we convinced ourselves that we knew ourselvesnBut I only knew a sleeping body, you an empty bednI knew the cover of a book that neither of us readnWe knew of the smoke and mirrors, but not the trap doorsnWe both wake up to an empty night and tears for two