There's a certain pace in the night Electric lamps, fleeting limelight Warm bodies break the wind Into the stuffed room you're swept They sway side to side Like some clumsy, boisterous tide Some cling to the sides They look seasick alright It's not the dead of night It's just growing older It's just getting sicker The air is getting thicker Marooned The decaying day Let it wash away Oh what joy All your words are drowned out Dripping down the wall This is the ends of the means Capsizing as you fall It's not the dead of night It's just growing older It's just getting sicker The air is getting thicker You're just killing time Waiting for the ride to start But everything Is as it seems