| Skipped a stone and watched it go
|
| The arc and then the undertow
|
| Thinking a day is something like a prayer
|
| So much to ask, you started soft
|
| Then the wait of locks come off
|
| In the end you just hope someone’s there
|
| 'Cause all these small talk relations
|
| No, they ain’t nothing for me
|
| No, nobody here knows the way that I feel
|
| There’s no one to answer to
|
| Just the dark and me and you
|
| All the angels standing round just wishing
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| For the drag there of your smoke
|
| Taste of skin, scent of hope
|
| Raise their skirts up when no words are rising
|
| Small talk relations
|
| I can’t hear one thing from you
|
| Don’t nobody here at all
|
| Know the way that I feel
|
| Workmen in the street below
|
| Softly play a radio
|
| Hear my static through the traffic
|
| Crowd just turns to leave
|
| Secret current underneath
|
| Cannot be heard above the racket
|
| Small talk relations
|
| I can’t hear one thing from you
|
| Don’t nobody here at all
|
| Know the way that I feel |