Caught With Your Hands Up
Your scent has left the room, my clothes no longer smell of you, nightdress on the floor, will stay there until I move. Captured what was pressed on her lips, but never said, ruined by a grudge again. So what are we doing here? I hear Nauvoo is nice this time of year? I have to disown this empty cell and you.
Take my hand my beautiful, don't let me hand in my wings, I want to believe that you still have a thing for me.
You were the one to read my thoughts like an open book that's torn. This is getting worse. I can't lose but I can't win. I long and wait to touch you, but you messed up and I tried so hard to forget you, I can't forget you. Love burns red and often rusts, hearts are torn apart by us, in correction, just you and you.
No one seems to mind the stamp that crowns the words that we inked out, but those letters are useless, working class and tasteless, nothing but cold and damp.
Take my hand my beautiful, don't let me hand in my wings, I want to believe that you still have a thing for me.
You still have a thing for me.
Written by Chris Yeoman - 2003
Take my hand my beautiful, don't let me hand in my wings, I want to believe that you still have a thing for me.
You were the one to read my thoughts like an open book that's torn. This is getting worse. I can't lose but I can't win. I long and wait to touch you, but you messed up and I tried so hard to forget you, I can't forget you. Love burns red and often rusts, hearts are torn apart by us, in correction, just you and you.
No one seems to mind the stamp that crowns the words that we inked out, but those letters are useless, working class and tasteless, nothing but cold and damp.
Take my hand my beautiful, don't let me hand in my wings, I want to believe that you still have a thing for me.
You still have a thing for me.
Written by Chris Yeoman - 2003
posted by The Cardiac Solution at 12:02 AM
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