It's a Raymond Chandler evening at the end of someone's day
And I'm standing in my pocket and I'm slowly turning grey.

I remember what I told you but I can't remember why
And the yellow leaves are falling in a spiral from the sky.

There's a body on the railings that I can't identify
And I'd like to reassure you but I'm not that kind of guy.

It's a Raymond Chandler evening and the pavements are all wet
And I'm lurking in the shadows because it hasn't happened...

Yet.