Hey, Theresa, neighbours still a long way from the start
Selling secrets just to pay our dues and play our parts
Cold September brings the oldest longing in my heart
Words are kicking off a dust of wind of where we are But I love you more, I love you more
Like kick drums on your bedroom door
And I throw on some piece of mind
But you still ain't the salesman kind Now we're floundering like foals in brambles in the night
Now we're poking out our eyes to k** the end in sight
I would rather tell you yes than tell you that I might
I would rather tell you lies than give in to the fight But I love you more, I love you more
Like kick drums on your bedroom door
And I throw on some piece of mind
But you still ain't the salesman kind Theresa says the start can end in a bad way
When she sleeps, the coyote screams in her head
Theresa says the time has played with our own way
I can't find the hands to remind me that there's nothing in the way But I want you more, I want you more
As if I'd never said before
And I'll throw on some piece of mind
But you still ain't the salesman kind