disorganism

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

I remember what I told you but I can't remember why.
yellow leaves are falling in a spiral from the sky.
There's bodies on the railings that I can't identify
I 'd like to reassure you but I am not that type of guy.

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