|
My tongue is scaling the north face of the neck |
|
And we're glaring like warriors |
|
But I've a feeling you won't look at me that way |
|
In the morning |
|
Cause lately you seem less sure of this thing |
|
You're like Bambi on ice |
|
And there's something in the flash of your arms |
|
A certain longing |
|
Kick the can |
|
I can see you now |
|
Behind that temper and ire |
|
Mister Wolf knows what time it is |
|
He says "It's dinner time!" |
|
I don't know what you're carrying |
|
Or how your heart is wired |
|
But there's a dangerous ticking |
|
I cut the red one |
|
No, the blue one |
|
I cut the red one |
|
No, the blue one |
|
I cut the red one |
|
I cut the red one |
|
I cut the blue one |
|
Raking over the embers and what I come across |
|
Raking over the embers and what I come across |
|
Is that you |
|
Combing your hair? |
|
And is that me |
|
Eating an egg? |
|
And I'll be there |
|
I'll be there |
|
I'll be there |
|
Like John Boy is there |
|
My tongue is scaling the north face of the neck |
|
And we're glaring like warriors |
|
But I've a feeling you won't look at me that way |
|
I've a feeling you won't look at me that way |
|
I've a feeling you won't look at me that way |
|
In the morning |
|
Is this how it goes? |
|
These two final throws? |
|
Is this how it goes? |
|
These two final throws? |
