And we ride on the aftermath
As a subtle way of looking past, we neglect our instincts
And we live by the light of day
To alleviate my own dismay I detain the process

And everybody sounds their best
It's the highbrow stream of consciousness
In a looming prime
Depending on the absence or the distance all the time

Love like intuitive alarm
A Hail Mary or a good luck charm dangled to clasp our interest
And our faith lies in the deprived unknown
You know that no one wants to be alone, die young or impure

And everybody sounds their best
It's the highbrow stream of consciousness
In a looming prime
Depending on the absence or the distance
And it's a sad decline
Introverted romance in our troubled minds
A trying pine
Depending on good fortune or coincidence all the time