The way you talk could always make a fool of menStudying the patterns of your speechnI was imagining a world just out of reach but brilliant, stillnAnd you were fumbling for something in your pursenWondering if things could get much worsenAnd if you’d find a cure for all your endless illsnThere was a sound coming out of the waynThat you looked at me the day that we metnBirds on the roofnCackle words like the pages of books upturnednWe were there and then we leftnWith whiskey, blood and breathnAnd the typical duress of being alivenYou thought the band was out of tune and overdressednJust your typical American b.s.nThere was a sound at the edge of your lipsnand the corners of your mouthnThe day that I leftnBirds on the roof mutter names out of contextnAnd summer burns downnWith a fluttering soundnI was another rubber band around your wristnStaring at the stairway where we kissed were younImagining a world that don’t exist and never will,nOr were you looking for my number in your purse?nLight another cigarettenAnd sing and cursenUntil the dancefloor dreams and the world is still.