Oh, she's a dying art. She's a weathered? leaf, at times of thunderstorm. And he's a prodigal son, with his back to the wall, he's an atomic bomb.
And she said, she said, she says: I remember you, your switch-blade eyes. The coolest thing to do, was to let you come inside. Hands behind my back, my tongue tied, bear with me now, let's go for a ride.
She's a dying art, she's a weathered? leaf, at times of thunderstorm. And I'm the prodigal one, with my back to the wall, I'm the atomic bomb.
And she said, she said, she says: I remember you, your switch-blade eyes. The coolest thing to do, was to let you come inside. Hands behind my back, my tongue tied, bear with me now, let's go for a ride.
I remember you, your switch-blade eyes. The coolest thing to do, was to let you come inside. Hands behind my back, my tongue tied, bear with me now, let's go for a ride, for a ride, for a ride.