They follow me in patterns in my pulse in the wall 
On your blog and in my head like some desperate siren call 
In the pages of your notebook in a dying woman’s cry 
Oh what the [bad word] s so special about 1895?

I’m used to violence in the night but now my dreams are numb and black 
Like I’m falling then I’m flying but you don’t have my back 
The numbers swarm inside my brain I fear they’ll never leave 
Oh why does it feel like two years after 1893
 [bad word]  
I’d never leave you behind 
But there’s a shaking in my stomach 
Water crashing through my mind 
Oh I’d never leave you behind 
But Moriarty’s calling 
And I am falling down

He carves my name into the sky like some ancient battle lullaby 
The date is burning acid in my heart and crowding up my eyes 
I’d kiss you on the stomach but I’m afraid you’ll only bleed 
Ink and numbers where I touch you when I finally concede
 [bad word] 
[Please let me wake up before I hit the 
Please let me wake up before I hit the 
Please let me wake up before I hit the ground] x2
 [bad word]