I’ve got to find the room, where you asked me to follow
your blood through the streets on your back.
While pillow talk will ask me to love your crowded shoulders,
All the way to your poisonous hands.
I guess I want the other side of your heart
I guess I want you to walk for me
And if God weren’t stubborn, I’d take your ears and taste your silver words
While you try to polish your golden knees.
So tell me, Jane, while the band plays our lonely crooked songs
“the singer chews way harder in the dark”
While cocktail storms and animal bones bend down like your sailor,
the jailbirds aren’t calling you to count on me.
You guessed I need the right side of your polished bronze bed.
You guessed whether or not your scars were free,
and dripping forward through your skin, feels like a bar room stranger
But I always had some luck in your room
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