It's getting cold
Thought it was too soon to tell
But it was terribly old
And as the heartbeat slows
To a heartless crawl
The lights went out
And darkness filled the house
On a tiring night under Long Island sky
I thought I'd known the consequence
But sweetness, can you believe this?
Mess we've made of it
This mess we've made of it
In years to come, it might make sense
But sweetness, can you believe this?
This what's become of it? What's become of it?
If you hear this and you think you're ready
Then meet me at Montauk
Where we'll write out in the sand
"Here lies the destiny of 2 hurt souls
Afraid to be cured again."
That could be our epitaph
I thought I'd known the consequence
But sweetness, can you believe this?
Mess we've made of it
This mess we've made of it
In years to come, it might make sense
But sweetness, can you believe this?
This what's become of it? What's become of it?
I know...
I thought I'd know the consequence
But sweetness, can you believe this?
Mess we've made of it
This mess we've made of it
In years to come, it might make sense
But sweetness, did you foresee this?
What's become of it? Just what's become...
