---

And I don't know whether
To laugh or cry
And I don't know whether
To live or die
I kept my love for her
Locked deep inside
It cuts like a knife
She's out of my life

Out of my life, out of my hair
Out of my mind, there's no love in fear
I move on, move on

Dear God, I wasn't breast fed
And most of my conversations with men seem to revolve around music
I'm no musician, but the pain has been instrumental
My senses: finely tuned instruments
Of-of-of being lonely, of being lost
Of being loved, of being human
Man, I could use a metaphor, but I can't get beyond this shit
I could use someone to talk to
But most of my conversations with men seem to revolve around music
I-I-I am a poet who composes what the world proses
And proses what the world composes
I am a poet who composes what the world proses
And proses what the world composes

Damned indecision
And cursed pride
I kept my love for her
Locked deep inside
And I don't know what to do
To get it through to you
Get out of my life, tonight
Get out of my life

Out of my life, out of my hair
Out of my mind, there's no love in fear
I move on, move on

She had nothing but time on her hands
Silver rings, turquoise stones and purple nails
I rub my thumb across her palm
A feather bed where slept a psalm
Yea, though I walk, I used to fly, and now we dance
I watched my toenails blacken and walked a deadened trance
'Til she woke me with the knife edge of her glance
I have the scars to prove the clock strikes with her hands

And I don't know what to do
To get it through to you
And I don't know what to do
To get it through

Out of my life, out of my hair
Out of my mind, there's no love in fear
I move on, move on, I move on

---

Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.