One,
two,
three, four, five,
we hide the lime inside your chicken.
Yeah.
I clamber to the shuffleboard court and held your hand.
And brother,
that is what was strange,
not playing shuffleboard in the rain.
Then we stayed up and kept the light low through
a cigarette haze that I began to choke on.
All you mountain men sitting in a bar for
one of your birthdays.
I love how you get home after work and make it your birthplace.
You can see it out in our play where a sticky grin on your face.
We can slowly drift into space and we haven't noticed it yet.
I love being in love with you, baby.
I love being in love with you,
baby.
I love being in love with you, baby.
I love being in love with you.
We blew the dust off from your ancestors language
and used it to cry over what was beautiful,
over what was strange, over what was tragic.
Baby,
but you shook it off like a tulip
on a stem and open to the sun again.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't remember the
last time I was in the basement and I smelled
dirt is not how I thought being alone with you would work.
You can see it out in our play.
Where a sticky grin on your face.
We can slowly drift into space and mask up passionate embrace.
We can gently tarnish our virtue.
I'm still trying to wash off the perfume while you lull
me into submission.
Can I take your hauntedness with me back into my prison?
I love being in love with you, baby.
I love being in love with you,
baby.