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i think i’m going to leave my phone at home tonight
par
The Narcissist Cookbook
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The ground underneath my feet Feels like it is crumbling away And you were the only thing I had to hold on to Tonight I'll go dancing alone Where nobody knows me Shake off the loneliness like snow off the shoulders of a winter coat And when the music stops I'll weigh up Whether I should call you I think I'm gonna leave my phone at home tonight Cause I know that's the kind of thing I might do The ground underneath my feet It feels like it is dancing with me And if I keep my eyes closed it's like I'm on my own Sometimes you've just got to go Where nobody knows your name Lie in the loneliness like snow Spread out your arms and make an angel And when the music stops I'll weigh up Whether I should call you I think I'm gonna leave my phone at home tonight Cause I know that's the kind of thing I might do What happens in your dreams? When you dream about me? The city doesn't look like any other It is piled on top of itself Like layers of sediment You follow a path that feels level enough Across roads and down alleys And then, coming to a railing You look over And I see the roof of a dizzying cathedral beneath me That ten minutes earlier I had been staring up at in wonder This city is a curse on cartographers Bridges pa**ing over bridges Streets stacked upon streets upon streets Parallel worlds that never quite meet Buildings larger inside than out Non-descript doors that lead, somehow, to entire, hidden towns Stairwells that stretch ever up And ever down And all of this Always I strongly suspect Moving And changing When no one is around This city sleeps And it sleeps deeply Drawing long heavy breaths you might mistake for the growl of traffic Or the groan of machinery And when it dreams The empty streets swell with figments of its dreaming Like you Like me You and me, we peer curiously down back alleys We scale cathedrals and cling to their spires to crow with the gargoyles We scratch dark prophecy into bathroom stall walls and answer calls on disconnected payphones And through our eyes, and hearts, and mouths The city begins to know itself Through our missed exits, bad calls, and wrong turns It thoroughly, painstakingly, maps itself out
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