You were a journalist when we first kissed
And I held my breath and waited
For the world to turn inside me
But you fucked me up somethin' serious
And left a mess for whoever next would come along and find me

Lane, Lane
Hiding in the corners of your heart
Sleeping in the backseat of your car

Lane, Lane
Sleeping beneath you on your floor
Sleeping on your back porch

Even the birds would sing of the sweltering
Summer of unprecedented nervous sleep and nightmares

There was something else I had to sing myself
A song of love was coming up but never really gets there

Loneliest art of loneliness
Was always lost on you
The intricate emptiness

One plus two?

Now all the scientists and mathematicians
Are sorting through your garbage
To try to find evidence about you

But soon enough they too will be left
Because live or die you realize
The world still turns without you

Lane, Lane
Hiding in the corners of your heart
Sleeping in the backseat of your car

Lane, Lane
Sleeping beneath you on the floor
Sleeping on your back porch