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Running Touch
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Courtesy Of
I think I'm tired of hearing don't
With ticket stubs in front of me
Paint my house all shades of gold
That way I can't see
That he's not real
I'm not even friends with ones I know
Courtesy of Curtis, I'm on my own
Quarter your visit and then some
As every breath it stirs me
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And I would have no one know
Of all these years waiting
Days sped, winding and wailing In an anvil of sheets
Your nose upon mine, as I would go
But who would you have if I were to leave
But he's not real
I'm not even friends with ones I know
Courtesy of Curtis, I'm on my own
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