The morning fog descends upon the late night's cheapest thrill
The most committed socialites see the sunrise in the Hills
Mistakes are slowly realized, memories distilled
Then the static starts to fade

From the laughter of a maniac, to a songbird's melody
From the howling of the siren, to the swaying of the trees
It fuses all together to find that perfect frequency
And then forever ricochets

Into a sound that no one made

I look up to see you slowing down while signaling a right
The older man behind us now is flashing you his brights
We both seem so distracted by this growing appetite
To punish and persuade

The silent conversation gets directed toward the view
The curses and the branches describes the avenue
The words like "I am sorry" and "I'm still in love with you"
Become a debt that won't get paid

Just another sound that no one made

I am rolling down the window to the city's radiation
The connected dreams still dancing through the sky
I just need someone who will listen to this strange and dark existence
Or the consolation of knowing that you tried

As we pull off the freeway, the hospital appears
I see a man up in the window on the back end of his years
And I imagined him there dying with that ringing in the ears
That we all end up with someday

There's a code within the symptom, a morbid sort of sign
The ominous reminder of the body's slow decline
As constant as a heartbeat but stronger overtime
While the rest of us decays

Listening to a sound that no one made

Copyright: Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Writer(s): Taylor Goldsmith