| The guy who put his hands on you
|
| Has got nothing to do with me
|
| And the bruises that you feel will heal
|
| And I hope you’ll come around
|
| 'Cuz we’re missing you
|
| And you used to speak so easy
|
| Now you’re afraid to talk to me
|
| It’s like walking with the wounded
|
| Carrying that weight way too far
|
| The concrete pulled you down so hard
|
| Out there with the wounded
|
| We’re missing you
|
| And I never claimed to understand
|
| What happens after dark
|
| But my fingers catch the sparks
|
| At the thought of touching you
|
| When you’re wounded
|
| Pour it out boys
|
| Let me break it down to revise the issue
|
| We miss your face and you know I wish you
|
| Would come back down to the Dalva Bar
|
| You tell them, «That's just my battle scar»
|
| I want to kiss you
|
| And knock 'em down like we used to
|
| You’re the marigold
|
| Well you walking down shaking that thing all day
|
| And then you walk on baby, walk on, you walk on
|
| On and on
|
| You’re an angel in the pit
|
| With her hands in the air
|
| And we’re missing you
|
| Now it’s fall and your shoulders get tighter
|
| Nervous flicks on the lighter, boots
|
| Your pissed off poets, and your women’s groups
|
| And the friends with you, we should’ve known this fool
|
| Well, I guess we missed the mark
|
| Still my fingers catch the sparks
|
| At the thought of them touching you
|
| And now you’re wounded
|
| Let me break it down to revise the issue
|
| You never come around and you know we miss you
|
| Well nobody took your pride away
|
| You tell 'em, «That's just what people say»
|
| Back down the bully to the end of the bus
|
| It’s time for them to be scared of us
|
| Till you’re yelling, how we living?
|
| 'Cuz you got the ball
|
| Then you rock on baby, rock on, you rock on
|
| You’re a summertime hottie
|
| With her feet in the air
|
| You’re singing, «I don’t care, I don’t care "
|
| Yeah baby you show up |