I'm stuck in a 1946 mindset. I don't have much to say; I only want to be quiet and clever and coy like Bogart's co-star. I wish I was called a name like Lucille or Vivian. I'm tired beyond sleep and seeing in color is no good. I'd be happier in black and white. I'd be happier if I could dress up and have someone take me out.
Hope of being saved fades into the glare of late hours. Nobody can actually do anything to help anyone these days, ask around.
There's an uneasiness about tonight that's got my heart going.
There's a darkness about tonight that's got my breath held.
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