Cigarette burn in the breeze of dusk, Strings talk low like they don’t trust much. Shirt hangs loose, chair leans back, Truth in the cracks where the night turns black. Sing it off-key, but it still feels right, Driftin’ with the smoke through an endless night. Our love don’t need polish, it just breaks through, Every crooked line still belongs to you. Yeah— Back porch sermons in suburban distortion, Words pour bourbon with suburban misfortune. Curtains half-open where the night runs late, I’m a tangled-up fate with a paper plate faith. Rhymes bend sideways, cracked vinyl plays, Moonlight stares crooked through a smoke-hazed maze. Every syllable spilling like a bottle uncapped, Every promise I made got a string attached.
