Neon Rain and the Taste of Salt
I’ve spent three years in this city feeling like a ghost
Alleyway Friend
The Taste of Rain on Asphalt
My life used to feel like those humid Tuesday nights in the
Neon Veins and Coffee Stains
The neon signs of Shinjuku always felt like they were shouting at
Vanilla Dreams in the Concrete Jungle
The city doesn't care if you’re tired. It just
Silver Boots on Wet Asphalt
The stadium lights are blinding, a million volts of artificial gold that
Neon Lights and Cold Beer on 4th Street
The humidity in this city always feels like a damp blanket you
The Neon Pulse in My Veins
I used to think this city was just a machine designed to
The Neon Pulse Between Us
I used to think my life was just a series of gray
Golden Hour at the Edge of Everything
I spent three years in a glass office that felt more like
Chlorine Dreams in the Neon City
The city never stops humming, a constant vibration of sirens and subway
Sand in the Bedsheets
I’m used to the concrete hum of downtown—the smell of
Slices of Summer in the Concrete Jungle
The air conditioning was humming its usual tired tune, and I could
