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