Paroles de Marissa Wendolovske
Mistletoe, tattooed to the back of my skull.Welcome home, chapped lips.
Slapshot taught, "Might makes right,"
but that must be a lesson I have missed.
Can I put my thumb down your throat?
Please, spit into my mouth.
Don't look to the door, dear.
It's cold out there, I fear.
With report of a wintry mix.
And here's the twist:
I torched your coat.
Kept my eye lid ajar and finally saw,
What I now know best:
My body in motion most resent yours at rest.
Can I put my thumb down your throat?
Please, spit into my mouth.
Don't look to the door, dear.
It's cold out there, I fear.
With report of a wintry mix.
And here's the twist:
I torched your coat.
Grandpa died on far-off frontlines, Mistletoe, tattooed to the back of my skull.
Welcome home, chapped lips.
Slapshot taught, "Might makes right,"
but that must be a lesson I have missed.
Don't look to the door, dear.
It's cold out there, I fear.
With report of a wintry mix.
And here's the twist:
I torched your coat.
Kept my eye lid ajar and finally saw,
What I now know best:
My body in motion most resent yours at rest.
Can I put my thumb down your throat?
Please, spit into my mouth.
Don't look to the door, dear.
It's cold out there, I fear.
With report of a wintry mix.
And here's the twist:
I torched your coat.
Grandpa died on far-off frontlines, Mistletoe, tattooed to the back of my skull.
Welcome home, chapped lips.
Slapshot taught, "Might makes right,"
but that must be a lesson I have missed.
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