Behind every good bomb there is a disaster lining up for a refund.
These nights are long and my dollar falls short so belly up and be sure to remember to tip.
It's just moonlight, baby. Etched in glass with revivals and praise.
Tracking my scent, accepting my hand on your thigh.
Whisper the moonlight, baby. Etched into glass with a conniving blade
Tracking my scent, my tongue and that look in your eye.
Don't worry, dear, I am sure we will still exist in the morning