I'm locking all the doors. I'm busting up the mirrors. Reflection is a dirty thing. It seems that's all too obvious. I didn't dim the lights enough. They see me against the wall. I'm making silhouettes, and it's all my ****ing fault. I would prefer a breeze, but I'll settle for this drink in front of me. The humid night just sticks to my skin. Isn't that so generous. It follows me to sleep. Now I toss and turn in. I hit the lights and sit at the edge of the bed, Strumming what's inside of me. I guess this night's been turned into something useful. I'm strumming my guitar looking out a dirty window. I'm drunker than I've been. What else do I have to say or sing?
I See London None More Black
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