Television's got no place
and radio is dead
All we are is happy
and there's nothing left unsaid.

In cover of the vintage light
that falls down on our heads,
from double-platted cotton shades
in burgundy and red.

We are all the same inside,
except for everything
that separates our hearts and minds
and changes how we think.

You aren't me and I'm not her
and nobody is him.
But look around, you'd think we hadn't
been where we have been.

I suck the meaning off the skin
and others do the same.
I feel the evening soaking in
as you forget my name.

Your story plays as mine unfolds,
with only me to blame.
Like painting portraits in the dark
and waiting for the flame.

We know we have no future,
so the past don't mean a damn.
I'm confident you're somewhere else,
a world from where I am.

In this uncertain setting,
where the air feels like the dram,
there is only intoxication,
double vision and Amsterdam.