Nightlands - Other Peoples Pockets

A haunted house or a breeze,
cold suddenly—
my old friend is drifting
on down the line.
The real thing is shaking,
weak at the knees—
because an echo is the ringing
of his own forgery.

It’s never warm at all
with heads to the wall
or hands in other people’s
pockets, after all.

Written by:
David John Hartley

Publisher:
Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.

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