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My brown eyes, two pools of mud |
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Resting in two dark moons |
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They turn the tide into a flood |
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And the bloodshot lines in the whites |
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Map every a road in this town |
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All the glare of the city lights |
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Every cul de sac we've talked down |
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Over time they build up the city |
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And our arguments show it all |
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Every ring road, every motorway |
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Displayed in crease and wrinkle |
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Until my face is a map you have folded up |
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One hundred, one thousand times |
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You know it starts pretty rough |
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And ends up even worse |
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And what goes on in between |
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I try to keep it out of my thoughts |
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Your blue eyes are like the deepest |
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And the warmest seas |
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As the salt elevates my body |
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They float my heart up past my teeth |
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And with the water and the |
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Cypriot sun |
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Would your psoriasis bleach and be gone? |
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Would it fix the pallor of my skin? |
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Oh, would my freckles all meld into one? |
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Your body above me, sobbing down |
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My cheeks wet from your tears |
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They extinguish each of the burning thread veins |
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Flow down to my ears |
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Now they rest in two tiny reservoirs |
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That overfed the wedded canals |
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You know it starts pretty rough |
|
And ends up even worse |
|
And what goes on in between |
|
I try to keep it out of my thoughts |
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And life, life is a long time |
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Too long to my mind, too long by far |
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Between my waterfalls and your landslides |
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There's cartography in every scar |
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Life, life is a long time |
|
Too long to my mind, too long by far |
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Because it starts pretty rough |
|
And ends up even worse |
|
And what goes on in between |
|
I try to keep it out of my thoughts |
|
You know it starts pretty rough |
|
And ends up even worse |
|
And what goes on in between |
|
I try to keep it out of my thoughts |
|
You know it starts pretty rough |
|
And ends up even worse |
|
And what goes on in between |
|
I try to keep it out of my thoughts |
|
You know it starts pretty rough |
|
And ends up even worse |
|
And what goes on in between |
|
I try to keep it out of my thoughts |
