I remember a time when you rode on the back of my bike through the city,
You held on to me, my periphery was filled with the blur of the lights,
And maybe it's a false memory of how it was that night, that night.
And maybe one day, far from now I'll remember this right.
Or maybe it's a false memory, a blind-spot in my sight.
A blind-spot in my sight.
And maybe one day you'll ride on the back of my bike, and we'll blow through the traffic and we'll float through all the lights. Or maybe it's a false memory a blind spot in my sight.
Then I thought of modesty and the motorway pushing the city, in front of me, bisecting me, to the back of my mind.
And you kissed me.
And maybe one day you'll ride on the back of my bike, and we'll blow through the traffic and we'll float through all the lights. Or maybe it's a false memory a blind spot in my sight.
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