The little clocks stopped ticking now Were swallowed in the stomached rue The only sound to tear the night Comes from the man upstairs His bloated belching figure stomps He may crash through the ceiling soon The window sees trees cry from cold And claw the moon But we know dont we And well dream wont we Of Montague Terrace in blue The girl across the hall makes love Her thoughts lay cold like shattered stone Her thighs are full of tales to tell Of all the nights shes known Your eyes ignite like cold blue fire The scent of secrets everywhere A fist filled with illusions Clutches all our cares But we know dont we And well dream wont we Of Montague Terrace in blue But we know dont we And we know Yes we know, dont we We know
montague, terrace, stomached, blue, cold