When the night is cold and the world is soft and your lips are cold.
And we say goodbye.

Will I know that it’s the end of the song? 
 
Will it then be quiet? Will the lullabies quiet to the beat of the drums?

When the static is on our heads.
When static is on the radio.
When the alcohol is in our heads.
I will scream the names, but they won’t come out.

Then its true.
I’m lost in translation.
Lost in translation.