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I won't leave it to you
This task of burning through a
Wounded year, my darling,
Never once was a sorry man
I want my baby on my arm
I want my baby on my arm
I want my baby on my arm
Two lips angled on yours
In the park I thought I told you
Once, maybe two times, as I guess
I was right, you weren't that special to me
I want my baby on my arm
I want my baby on my arm
I want my baby on my arm
Back on Sunday
Leaving Monday
I'm going down
Back on Sunday
Leaving Monday
I'm going down
Pretty paper playing
On a distant radio station
Extra old and an angry,
Does the faith of trails address the sound?
I want my baby on my arm
I want my baby on my arm
I want my baby on my arm
I want my baby on my arm
I want my baby on my arm
I want my baby on my arm