Who’d kiss in the night unspoken and by awakening declare wrong timing.
Who’d fall beyond ground.
​There was gleam in the sky and yet a cloud passing by made you coin this absurd: WRONG TIMING.
There was a sigh in my breath that’s when the ring in my phone assured you: Now, that must just be wrong timing.
There was a spell in this room, in the hideaway below the stairs where that tiny devil whispered: Take care, that could be wrong timing.
There was a taste in the gin, and the many other gins that night, but no magic really there, so it must be wrong timing.
There was a hint when I didn’t come but then I said: ‘I’m innocent, I’m innocent, I’m innocent.’ Surely it’s just wrong timing.
There is this clue, in your dreams, that then the girl she always kills, still you hang on and think: It’s wrong timing.
There’s force in your presence, truth in your acts. Don’t let them be smashed, there’s no such thing as wrong timing