New York has a hurricane of birds
Every sunset and rise again and again
They seem to be one,
but then do they feel the single loss of the act of breaking apart at every seam
Loving Venice like it's an only child
Making judgments on acts of nature
Even while it's breathing out as you inhale
Then you're crying foul when you notice it's turning pale
New York has a hurricane of birds
With conflicting opinions and the smell of trash i'm sleeping on the floor
you're on the couch wrapped up in a blanket that's breaking apart at every seam
Loving Venice like it's an only child
Making judgments on acts of nature
Even while it's breathing out as you inhale
Then you're crying foul when you notice it's turning pale
It's a hurricane, isn't it? It's a hurricane you made so you won't escape.
You can't fade out in real life
You can't keep using secrets like they're weapons
With conflict as your conduct to strangers and your close friends
You keep forgetting to stop forgetting the way you thought before
It's a hurricane, isn't it? It's a hurricane you made so you won't escape.
Spinning around in circles hoping something will come from nothing you create
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