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I opened the fire door |
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To four lips |
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None of which were mine |
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Kissing |
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Tightened my belt around my hips |
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Where your hands were missing |
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And stepped out into the cold |
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Collar high |
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Under the slate grey sky |
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The air was smoking and the streets were dry |
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And i wasn't joking when i said |
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Good bye |
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Magazine quality men talking on the corner |
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French, no less much less of them then us |
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So why do i feel like something's been rearranged? |
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You know, taken out of context i must seem so strange |
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Killed a cockroach so big |
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It left a puddle of pus on the wall |
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When you and i are lying in bed |
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You don't seem so tall |
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I'm singing now because my tear ducts are too tired |
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And my brain is disconnected but my heart is wired |
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I make such a good statistic |
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Someone should study me now |
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Somebody's got to be interested in how i feel |
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Just 'cause i'm here |
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And i'm real |
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Oh, how i miss |
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Substituting the conclusion to confrontation with a kiss |
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And oh, how i miss |
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Walking up to the edge and jumping in |
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Like i could feel the future on your skin |
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I opened the fire door |
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To four lips |
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None of which were mine |
|
Kissing |
|
I opened the fire door x 9 |
