Click goes the gate with the moon in its mouth
We pass from the grey to the sugarglass south
Wrist after wrist in the carnival blue
The night takes our names and gives something new
Purple on skin, still wet from the hand
A little fake passport to a bright no-man’s-land
We laugh like thieves with a legal excuse
Too grown to believe it, too starved to refuse
Turn us through
Turn us through
Let the moon put a mark on what we buried blue
Turn us through
Turn us through
We were ashamed of the light
Now the light wants proof
The serious city keeps calling our coats
But the music gets under the buttons and ropes
Somebody’s collar gives up on the lie
Somebody’s old little grin learns how to fly
No one says joy, but the turnstiles know
They count every shoulder that leans toward glow
We came with our pockets full of sensible things
Now the ticket girl laughs and the metal mouth sings
Turn us through
Turn us through
Let the moon put a mark on what we buried blue
Turn us through
Turn us through
We were ashamed of the light
Now the light wants proof
Click-click, color
Click-click, skin
Click-click, over
Let us in
If the morning takes it
Let it take the paint
We still crossed laughing
Past the little saint
If the stamp is fading
Let the wrist stay warm
We were made for weather
Not for staying formed
Turn us through
Turn us through
Let the moon put a mark on what we buried blue
Turn us through
Turn us through
We were ashamed of the light
Now the light wants proof
Turn us through
Turn us through
Let the gate lose count when the old rules move
The stamp won’t last
But the pulse got loose
Turn us through
Turn us through
Click goes the gate
The city looks small
We are not children
We came back for all