Perfect Strangers

Now, it's like we're just two strangers. Perhaps, we always were.


The Underground

Our rawest, dirtiest, darkest deeds, unsung and unheard at daylight, run quietly in the night, like thieves, through the bush, into the seas, And oh, how hard and how easy it is that we must pretend- when our hearts and our heads and our beds are filled with the images and scents of sin- to…