The Streets

And the streets are cold
And the night gets older now
And my love has gone for good

Hold that phone in your cold dead fingers
And the rusted tone of old iron
Don't you tell
I'm not telling

And my doors are open to you
It's half past ten and it's the truth
That you only just knocked off

Don't you tell I'm not telling
Don't you yell I'm not yelling

Close enough to us
Close enough to pay
Close enough to cut
Close enough to say
Close enough to touch
Close enough to stay
Close enough to god
Close enough to pray
Close enough to us
But not close enough