Late at night,
when reality's failed and nothing is prevailing but the wind,
I come to you.

Out of sight,
like a fugitive trailing across a barren land, you let me in,
you always do.

My reason is caught by a sudden gust
of lateral thought that sweeps me
far beyond,
it's the opium of the night.

And the ocean of words
that we throw in the air
grows more absurd
and nobody seems to care,
it's a refugee's respite.
Cafe Society.

Late at night,
while the city lies sleeping and solitude is keeping me awake,
I think of you.

Dim your lights,
oh, I want to sink deep in that river of oblivion you make,
I need it, too.

Let me check-in my mind
with my coat at the door,
'cause I want to go flying
where I've never been before,
some inviting [some 3-syllable thing that ryhmes with "ravine"].

If the hand that you hold
in the dead of the night
is a little too cold,
the body seems just right,
it's a [some 5-syllable thing that also rhymes with "ravine"].
Cafe Society.