EUGENY MANYAHIN - 2AM

Heat. Heat.
Taxi lights across your face.
Two a.m. and still awake.
Your jacket hanging by the door
Like you've been here before.
Rain keeps falling on the street.
I can hear the neighbors speak,
And your voice inside my head
Saying something I forget.
Maybe we were too young.
Maybe not enough.
Maybe all this time
Was never really ours.
Save a prayer for lonely hearts.
We were dancing in the dark.
Music playing way too loud.
Trying just to drown it out.
And for a moment we were fine.
Blue light, smoke, your hand in mine.
Now you're only passing through
Like people always do.
Empty glasses by the sink.
I still stop and sometimes think
How you left without a sound.