Now I'm staring at the Hudson, I am humming to the passing trains
And I no longer miss the silence, but I miss your eyelids flickering
Should we give up the hunt, become the hunted ones instead?
Won't the bells at St. Marks keep on groaning when we're dead either way?

I still leave you every morning just to hide behind a turn of phrase
I still sleep through every chorus, I forget my way across the page
Should we give up the hunt, become the hunted ones instead?
Don't the stayers paint the walls, once the leaver has taken flight either way?

You no longer come to greet me. Were you whispering at my return?
Did I lose another baby? Did I lose my mind to chemicals?
Did I give up the hunt, become the hunted one instead?
The only song I know to write goes, "Look at me! Look at me! Look at me! Hey, hey!"