Torn Stub Confession

(hmmm-mm) Torn ticket stub in my cold hand Standing outside this boutique,

under the awning

Typed out a message,

deleted it again Behind the glass,

they're counting up the night's cash

I'm hovering right on the edge of the send

(on the edge) Shadows dancing on the register screen

Is this a soft crime or just a bad dream?

I keep almost sending it,

almost letting go

Standing in the cold light of a storefront glow We were counting

money, we were counting time Now I'm left outside with this beautiful

crime (yeah)

Boutique is locked, the streets are dead quiet

I trace the crease of where we tore the paper One push

of a button changes everything But I just watch my breath dissolve

into nothing

Almost

sent... (almost)

Just a torn stub in my pocket now