Something To Do With My Hands

Her Space Holiday

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    You know it kills me to see such a pretty girl so tired
    You've got your mother's cheekbones and your father's crooked
    smile
    Forget all those places that you've never really been
    And all those situations you somehow found yourself in
    Let your body sink into me
    Like your favorite memory
    Like a line of poetry
    Or a fucking fit of honesty
    I'll do my best to keep you, keep you sleepy as the south
    With my old watch on your wrist
    And my thumbs inside your mouth
    Suck on my fingertips until you kill all my prints
    So your boyfriend has no clue
    Of how much I've been touching you

    My problem with me is my problem with you
    It doesn't take much
    For me to come unglued
    I put my headphones on
    And hear your favorite songs
    And it kills me to know
    That this won't be one of them

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    You know it saves me to think even for a little while
    I owned the set of shoulders that you came to rely on
    Like in that movie theater when you whispered in my ear
    I almost didn't make it
    This has been my hardest year
    Your job is killing you faster than a cancer could
    So now you're giving up like they always said you would
    You've got that old map out now and you found the farthest town
    You hope that if you're lucky this is where you'll settle down

    I don't care where you move
    I don't care if it's far
    All that I ask is that I know where you are
    In case our timing is right
    In case you need more from me
    Than a bit of advice
    Or a tongue full of sympathy

    You know it kills me to see such a pretty girl so tired
    You've got your mother's cheekbones and your father's crooked
    smile
    Forget all those places that you've never really been
    And all those situations you somehow found yourself in
    Let your body sink into me
    Like your favorite memory
    Like a line of poetry
    Or a fucking fit of honesty
    I'll do my best to keep you, keep you sleepy as the south
    With my old watch on your wrist
    And my thumbs inside your mouth
    Suck on my fingertips until you kill all my prints
    So my girlfriend has no clue
    Of how much I've been touching you

    Información de la canción

    Composición: Marc Bianchi

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