the rhythms you're making
what's at the top of your list?
'cause the way you glance at people,
leaves us in a tizz
What flows from your pen, darling,
from ten down to one?
All I feel are the rhythms you're making
like the pounding of a drum
So tell me, sweeheart,
what's it really all about?
your mental focus seems to dwindle
causing hearts to fly down south
It's raining outside, but love,
static stains the air
It's getting stale to wait for you
to come around and care
What tops your list, baby?
do you want to touch my skin?
'Cause I've opened all my windowns
waiting to see if you'll come in