She fixes her lips, they
always looks perfect...
Never a smudge line,
Never too mu-ch.
I try on my blue shirt...
She told me she liked it, once.
She wonders what I'll wear,
She knows just what she'll wear,
She al-ways wears blue.
So sneakers or flipflops?
I'm starting to panic...wait, wait...
Remember she asked you,
"Remember to bre-athe,
And every-thing will be o-kay."
Okay,
alright, alright, alright...
okay.
The moon is down,
and Heaven is waiting
for callers and entries
as we're calling out.
This is ours;
it is ours, it is ours, it is ours.
So, tonight we drink,
tonight we dance,
aked and tangled and twisted,
in love.
And tonight,
we are the last ones who can feel it.
Heaven Is here,
Heaven Is here.
And tonight we are the only ones who feel it.
I read more maps than books,
and I write more postcards than hooks.
How I long for the Atlantic,
though I'm paid to make girls panic,
while I sing Jesse's songs.
So my friend, Susan,
she says to me, "Chris,"
"I've gotta tell you something,
about my situation," she said,
"I cant get laid in this town,
without these pointy fuckin shoes.
My legs are so black and blue,
and so are you...and soo aare youu..."
Okay,
alright...