| Sew a late seed
|
| And so inside
|
| A cast out, unwanted son
|
| A crawl to what you want
|
| Sit down, you fault, you run away from anyone
|
| And where you live, I feel most on A corner of space that you donЉ° run
|
| And guardЉЇ off, I pass you by Makes no impression as you stand
|
| Makes no impression holding sand
|
| A waif across the sea, aloss
|
| Because you canЉ° think straight
|
| ItЉЇ your calling
|
| Wasted mourning
|
| You wish it was your hand sliding down her back
|
| Call, this is the first thing that you can solve
|
| As the weight comes off again
|
| Always the last to remember a name
|
| Makes no impression as you stand
|
| Makes no impression holding sand
|
| You had your captive fan, and then what?
|
| She saw your face and it tied your hands
|
| Made no impression on me Only left out holding sand
|
| And it runs through
|
| Shows in your face and runs through your hands |