Oh, she's a dying art,
She's a weathered leaf
At times of thunderstorm.
And he's a prodigal son,
With his back to the wall,
He's an atomic bomb
And she said, she said, she says:
I remember you,
Your switch-blade eyes.
The coolest thing to do,
Was to let you come inside.
Hands behind my back.
My tongue tied.
Bare with me now.
Lets go for a ride.
She's a dying art,
She's a weathered leaf
At times of thunderstorm.
And I'm the prodigal one,
With my back to the wall.
I'm the atomic bomb
And she said, she said, she says:
I remember you,
Your switch-blade eyes.
The coolest thing to do,
Was to let you come inside.
Hands behind my back.
My tongue tied.
Bare with me now.
Lets go for a ride.
I remember you,
Your switch-blade eyes.
The coolest thing to do,
Was to let you come inside.
Hands behind my back.
My tongue tied.
Bare with me now.
Lets go for a ride.
For a ride.
For a ride.
A strong comment here is specific: the phrase you keep hearing, the mood you come back for, or the reason this song stays in rotation.
Sign in to post the first listener note. Reporting stays open to everyone.