From the Album: Didn't Feel A Thing
You woke up with the worst of Thursday
Chiselled in you face
A single sheet of sweat clung to her bed
The vice-like grip on either temple
Hardly stemmed the pace
Her pulse reverberated through your head
Only one can stop this train now and it's you
The Grey St rollercoaster of a thousand beds on whim
Exposed to the other side of her
With hair black as licorice
As it fell about her skin
Your ego took you over in a blur
Only one can stop this train now and it's you