Tekster: The Devoted Few. Counting Cars.

distance makes the heart grow weak
i've stopped listening when you speak
i can't even hear myself think anymore

phone call wakes the drunkard sleep
it's your voice, we don't agree
i've been trying to make some sense out of this mess

counting cars on collins st
and we'll set our watches to the beating of the city
and it's cold so we'll agree
to run all the way back to your house now you run backwards

morning bells to wake the dead
now there's static in my head
i don't look to see the daggers i know you have in your eyes


and after all our time's been spent
with these ghosts they're all hell bent
i've been trying to make some sense out of this mess we've made

counting cars on collins st
and we'll set our watches, we will set our watches to the beating of the city
and it's cold so we'll agree
to run all the way back to your house now you run backwards

come follow me, don't look backwards, you will find your way home aftera?¦