And I'm living on borrowed oxygen, so please come back.
Don't they grant you one last wish before you die?
And all those claustrophobic nightmares you had shortly preceding
had more meaning that it seems.
Someone with a gun said "get out of the car!"
but your eyes were fixed on a harvest moon.
And the harvest moon didn't know what to say,
so you let yourself pa** away, a story unfinished.
And I'm living on borrowed oxygen, I need to breathe,
and I'm listening to the nightmare station now.
All these times I knew you were lonely inside,
because to me, there was no way out, but through sticking together.
And to you, it was silver screen dreams of a star-studded role,
in a story unfinished.
And I'm sleeping with a room tonight, and don't you cry!
I will make it back home before I die.
And I'm running out on oxygen, and don't let me go.
I like to keep my tracks in the snow.
And I'm going to Coney Island tonight, with someone who I want to be.
This is who I want to be. This is where I want to be.
And I guess we all question ourselves sometimes,
but that's not the way it was last night.
And I'm thinking about the aftermath,
lying helpless in the backseat thinking about the stars.
And I guess, for a moment, we made our last connection.
Two bleeding insomniacs looking for detective work,
looking for holes in the walls.
Looking for holes in the walls.