Sometimes I want to hear the closed off things.
It's not enough just to know of the Do Not Enter signs and private drives.
When will it be for me?
I miss the whispered times and the nighttime tricks.
We have the same knuckles, you know.
It always comes back to those longed-after still shots.
We clack rhythms with our teeth.
I perform Fred Astaire's tap routines in my mouth.
They rattle inside my head, along with the popping of your jaw.
Don't think about it don't think about it don't think about how it was.
I want to follow my advice.