the rhythms you're making

hey baby,

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