He don't remember, how it got there
|
It had a number, written on his forearm
|
It spelled disaster
|
All hoping, all hoping for dancing
|
He was looking, and looking stunning
|
His clothes reflected light, all right
|
She sat, she sat in the backseat
|
The car was plush but had no heat
|
And no not no one was blushing
|
Their technique was so damn right
|
All right, and!
|
He read the note in the black light
|
He thought he read minds and was not right
|
That line still made him seem charming
|
His clothes were shining, shining
|
|
-----------------
|
Lounge
|
| Modest Mouse |
