You hear that knock on the door? That's the Late Model Humans, let 'em in. You smell a storm coming on the air? That's the Late Model Human, better grab an umbrella. You see the reflection of headlights crawling across your ceiling at night? That's us too. When you hear a baby laughing or a siren screaming, a wave pounding or even a faucet dripping - we're in there somewhere. We have jobs that we don't like and family and friends that we do. We have problems with the world we live in but we're not fixing them. Not yet anyway. We're the thing that looks back at you from the mirror. We're the lucky ones. We need to break out, we need to get out, we need to move out 'cause there's no take out. We see misty in your eyes. We hear the pounding sound of the beat, beat, beat. We want to be good but there's so many rules. We're ragged as a boxer, empty as a hole. We'd grab you by the hair and sock you in the jaw if we weren't so afraid of the long arem of the law. We see the poetry of a paper cup rolling on the subway floor. We're the fortunes of a loser who one night got away. We love her pretty French words. We believe even more in the redemption scenes. And we're not ashamed of a thing that we've done. We'll give you a song if you'll sing along.