| Missing that wounded girl
|
| Puttin' on her canine teeth
|
| Sun come burn the clouds
|
| Peace come get me now
|
| I’m sick of ticking boredom
|
| Counting down the pealing hours
|
| Harder edges today
|
| Harder edges today
|
| Burgeoning sky all day grey
|
| Like living in a tupperware box
|
| Locks of hair under glass
|
| Stuck full of flies of the past
|
| And I’m sick of ticking boredom
|
| Counting down the pealing hours
|
| She was capable and kind but not inclined
|
| She was capable and kind but not inclined
|
| Oh don’t run the numbers
|
| Don’t run the numbers
|
| Don’t ask around about me
|
| Shadows are deep and the angles are keen
|
| Lift me out of this pinball machine
|
| Your voice is a tall grass whisper
|
| And I picture a kiss in spectacular station
|
| Your voice has an easy melody
|
| And I’m gently awake from the terrible dreams
|
| Your voice has a mockingbird wisdom
|
| And I flip at indigence and then again
|
| Your voice is an opium smoke plume
|
| The room melts away in a velvet and
|
| Your voice offers no choice but abandon
|
| And I’m rag doll and glad and I’m ten men in love again
|
| So don’t run the numbers
|
| Don’t run the numbers
|
| Don’t run the numbers
|
| Don’t run the numbers
|
| Don’t run the numbers
|
| Don’t run the numbers
|
| Don’t run the numbers
|
| Missing that wounded girl
|
| Puttin' on her canine teeth
|
| Sun come burn the clouds
|
| Peace come get me now
|
| I’m sick of ticking boredom
|
| Counting down the pealing hours
|
| Harder edges today
|
| Harder edges today
|
| Burgeoning sky all day grey
|
| Like living in a tupperware box
|
| Sun come burn the clouds
|
| Peace come get me now
|
| And I’m sick of ticking boredom
|
| Counting down the pealing hours
|
| She was capable and kind but not inclined
|
| She was capable and kind but not inclined |