Composed, performed, produced by Bob Forbes.
Lyrics
You tell me half a truth like its currency,
I inspect it in the quiet of the kitchen light.
Your laugh is an odd punctuation in a sentence,
Tracing the margins and nothing adds up right.
Makes no sense - the way you leave the light on, then you close the door,
Makes no sense - the way we keep on wanting though we said we won't anymore.
Crooked are the smiles, the voices in the ventless wind,
It makes no sense, darling, but I'm used to this on you again.
Your perfume is a rumor, expensive and nuclear,
High heels on a sidewalk keep time with my unsteady fear.
You say forever like an afterthought, like something we misplaced,
Trying to find logic in the way you never stay in place.
Makes no sense - the way you leave the light on, then you close the door,
Makes no sense - the way we keep on wanting though we said we won't anymore.
Crooked are the smiles, the voices in the ventless wind,
It makes no sense, darling, but I'm used to this on you again.
Leave the light on, let the numbers blur and bend,
We don't need every puzzle solved to know if we'd try again.
It makes no sense, and maybe in conclusion we've found,
Two misfit pieces making circles when the world spins 'round.
Makes no sense - the way you leave the light on, then you close the door,
Makes no sense - the way we keep on wanting though we said we won't anymore.
Crooked are the smiles, the voices in the ventless wind,
It makes no sense, darling, but I'm used to this on you again.
Copyright 2025; Bob Forbes