|
Siphon off top layers |
|
Leave an etching in the dirt |
|
Tracing passed the history |
|
To date back to the hurt |
|
Fingers leave a trail on me |
|
A map of what I've done |
|
Each hair that grows precisely |
|
Shows a timeline, and my sum |
|
And you don't know the weight |
|
The clicking of the counter |
|
I won't show you the weight |
|
And its worth |
|
Walk into a new room |
|
And your static lingers still |
|
Trace of grease from un-socked feet |
|
Is mine to smudge at will |
|
Fingers leave a trail on me |
|
A map of what I've done |
|
Each hair that grows precisely |
|
Shows a timeline, and my sum |
|
And you don't know the weight |
|
The clicking of the counter |
|
I won't show you the weight |
|
And its worth |
