She cocked a smile and looked at the traffic, "You probably still think it's me when a loud truck passes by your house."
Set on the stars, he looked at her, "I bet you still think it's my first visit back home when you can't sleep on a Thursday night."
As the train departed he snapped back to reality, watching her leave.
Burying himself in the sheets of another he jumped awake, "I bet you still take sleepers to know what it's like to sleep again."
Placing a record to fill the silence in his ears she played, "I bet you still listen to all those songs to hold yourself together."
Bringing a new cigarette to life she kissed his lungs, "I bet I'm the smoke you use to escape from the thought of me."
Through the screen he peaked as his hands wrote about her, and she smiled through each key, "I bet you still write to try and forget about me."
"I bet you'll call this one, 'City Sleepers.' Because we're in two different cities and you can't seem to sleep. And you wish you could send it during the night."