Through the stillness of the evening
Comes the sound of dying cars
And it drips up through your window
Then I turn and there you are
A window fan is blowing
But this room is hot as hell
I don't know where this is going
Cause it's still too soon to tell

There is music softly playing
I like all your stolen songs
And the television's dead
Because we hooked it up all wrong
In the dark, it's numbers blinking
Weave their own hypnotic spell
I don't know what you were thinking
Cause it's still too soon to tell

At the door of your apartment
There's a big old fashioned bike
And a spider's spinning webs
Around a pale yellow light
There's someone cooking something
I can't identify the smell
Better days might be coming
But it's still too soon to tell