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You pull up the car with flashers flashingon and on and off,and I complain about just how farI've got to walk with my guitar.The doorman, he won't let me in,and our fingers almost touchas he traces and x on the back of my handso I can't drink with you the rest of the band.Slippery sneaker soles, they stickto abandoned slicks of beer,that reach out to touch the carpet and cups,so it knows that something's still there,and I unknot knotted cablesas you unknot knotted thoughts.I unknot knotted cablesas you unknot knotted thoughtsabout when we grow upand singing songs won't be enough,and the way our shoulders touchbetween the amps and guitars in the back of the van.on the way home we don't talk. From Letras Mania