You were a journalist when we first kissed   And I held my breath and waited    For the world to turn inside me   But you fucked me up somethin' serious   And left a mess for whoever next would come along and find me      Lane, Lane,    hiding in the corners of your heart   Sleeping in the backseat of your car      Lane, Lane,    sleeping beneath you on your floor   Sleeping on your back porch      Even the birds would sing of the sweltering    Summer of unprecedented nervous sleep and nightmares      There was something else I had to sing myself   A song of love was coming up but never really gets there      Loneliest art of loneliness    Was always lost on you   The intricate emptiness      One plus two?      Now all the scientists and mathematicians   Are sorting through your garbage    To try to find evidence about you      But soon enough they too will be left   Because live or die you realize    The world still turns without you      Lane, Lane,    hiding in the corners of your heart   Sleeping in the backseat of your car      Lane, Lane,    sleeping beneath you on the floor   Sleeping on your back porch