Light falls across our hall, our letters fall between the bed and wall. I've got to leave here soon because it's always winter in this sunny room when you're gone. Even when I rattle blue tell me I'm beautiful and I'll be beautiful.
Sometimes I talk too much, the words descend and then they smother us. But words don't matter much, they're only gutless promises in better haircuts, and though I'm sunk I'm happy in your car, the engine purrs around our iron hearts.
But all the things I need are aching miles ahead of me. I know it's Christmas soon but baby, I don't feel like you.
So-so I save my breath, I watch with tired eyes as you seduce yourself. And if it's all the same I think I'll take the floor and let you take the blame... See, I won't. See, everybody else is wrong, and I've an ache from lapping with a tiger's tongue.