Was it your curious eyes? Or my big fur hat? Was it my crooked smile? Or your thick accent? Was it the questions that didn't matter? Was it the first walk home? Or the shrinking space between our mouths when it was cold to the bone?
Thought I would invite you up for tea. True love is always in a minor key.
We tried to say our goodbyes, but we just stood and stared, slow and warm into each other's eyes like a double-dare. Side by side, in my living room, the saddest sounds of Arab Strap provide the perfect tunes.
Happy songs are weaker than they seem. True love is always in a minor key.
Rabbit ears, and bass guitars, experiments and random facts, weekend rental cars. Chinatown, from here to there. Coney Island Wonder Wheel, your fingers in my hair.
Beauty's found in pieces by Sate. True love is always in a minor key