I don't know where you think we're going: all christmas eve talks and red wine parasites. we're like vultures or their prey, looking for something to give away.
This cloak room don't hold no promise of lights-out-make-believe, but it will surely forgive you, and you know you have to give what you receive.
And as slow as you'd say, 'never let me go...' i'd quickly freeze to d**h in this bed, gripping you like you were my last breath. gripping you because you are my last breath.
Now i'm stealing a line from a man in wichita; something like, 'i need you more than i want you but i want you for all time...'