Trite 歌词

She's on the edge of my bed With my last cigarette And she's looking harder Than the end should be Those "accusationary eyes" Another urge to cry out But she can't find the matches again And when I think about the sweat Undressed to all excess I question where my mind should be This is just not the same I've memories of flames Oh sweet memories Of when I was with you Oh with you The highway seems sacred at night Splinters of light Directing apparitions to me I drive faster to escape sunlight An advent of lies On the streets to point at me Why is it always the same I've memories of flames Sweet memories Of when I was with you Oh with you In all my impressions of life Post-modern sublime I lose the prescribed remedy We seem to quickly lose sight Oh that may sound trite But I will not choose disbelief She's on the edge of my bed With my last cigarette Oh sweet memories