Shuffling some papers
Scribbling some letters
On a pad somewhere
A note to myself
Oh so sure it'll be what i wanted it to be, really
We're not all gonna see fortune, fame, and obviously
You're hoping that it's something but some roads lead to nothing
Don't act so surprised we turned out to be - not what we predicted exactly
Just another bunch of vagabonds drifters stoners or starlets
Past regrets and future triumphs shuffling on the hot concrete
Suns been beating down but you don't wanna see
Wanted the truth but you don't want to believe
Ring out the sirens
Call out to ghosts
lost at last
Forgetting what we wrote
What we might have been again
Saw it once but i can't remember when
You don't have to know our faces or our names
Just theain
The tips of our fingers
The after-image

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