And when the lights go low, oh you know, we can't hold
to the feeling that haunts you.
So now we let it go, head to toe, open glow,
to the rhythm that wants you
to move like a human and be where you are,
glide like an eagle and die like a star,
ready and able and bristled and primed,
move like an ocean and run over time.
Catch my dying breath.
I suppose it could go to the soul that controlled you,
that did something cold to you.
I would hope that the night time would gently unfold you,
shift up your point of view.
I'll be your messenger, your minister, your morbid curiosity.
In the hands of the night you're a plaything.
I'll be your passenger, your pleasurer, your terminal velocity.
In the absence of light we're the same thing.
Animals all, you're a breed of distinction,
animals onto the edge of extinction,
catch my dying breath.
I suppose we could go to the souls that control you.
What are they holding to?
I would hope that the night time would gently unfold you,
show you a thing or two.
I'll be your messenger, your minister, your morbid curiosity.
In the hands of the night you're a plaything.
I'll be your passenger, your pleasurer, your terminal velocity.
In the absence of light we're the same thing.
I'll be your altitude, your attitude, the victim of your vanity.
In the hands of the night you're a plaything.
I'll be your come-what-may, your tried-and-true, I'll help you shake your sanity.
In the absence of light it's the same thing.