Heatwave.
Scurvy knave
A whole form.
One thing I can call my own
As for love
It's still a six- digit code and I've cracked my head
Jumping to high for the mistletoe again
My teeth are clean
My ingratitude is borderline obscene
I use the telephone
It's not a resting place what the fuck would you know about love?
I couldn't make you disappear
Will you take my call?
I'll wrap it up tight I'll surrender it all
Let's hold hands and cover my head so that I will stop breathing
Hold hands and cover my head so that I can stop breathing
Hold hands and cover my head so that I can stop breathing now
I couldn't make you disappear
Will you take my call?
I'll wrap it up tight and I'll strangle it all
For a heatwave
Some measuring tape
A whole form
One thing I can call my own
Let's hold hands and cover my head.