my arms are full of humanity
i stole it from you when you were smoking
and I know you won't miss it
not even a bit.
accidents happen but you never did
i'm the forgotten change in your pocket
of the old winter coat
the newspapers stackin', neat fold
Oh, to be held again,
to be spent or read,
put aside again.
That would be the greatest thing,
but your fire's burning out
I think you know by now
that I'm getting sick and tired
of waiting.
So we'll sit side by side and we'll stare,
hating that we share the same air.
There's no room for speaking
and nothing will ever be said.
We're the babies in cradles at night,
sleeping peacefully but only out of fright
that if we wake up the monsters will come track us down.
We want to be held again
to be close or dead
sung to sleep again
that would be the greatest thing.
But our fire's burning out
I think we know by now
that we're both sick and tired of waiting.
The floors I sleep on at night
they speak to me.
their Strange voices tell me all things true.
They say when something's dead it's dead.
There's just no reviving it.
Just bury it and move on,
move on.
to be held again
to be held again
to be held again