Past where the moon pins the sky

clamber aboard a running tram

let us go then, you and I

past the bleating of the lamb

clamber aboard a running tram

you keep the lighter in your pocket

past the bleating of the lamb

your cigarette glow for now is quiet

“I have no tears left”, I say

Your cigarette glow, for now is quiet

Your smile falters as you look away.

“I have no tears left,” I say

“Nothing left of myself to give.”

Nothing left of myself to give,

Nothing left of myself to give

This old heart spawns no relief.