Made of wanting, solely, I'm used to - it's easy, look at what we gain.
Sorta holding on loose ever so slightly, fingers feeling rain.
And if it's over will you wanna go, I'm down.
If you account for me and vouch for me every time we go.
Will you surrender to a remedy so ripe it's running cold.
Push in to fix, to get it set.
Pushing to feel the very half.
And it counts as an echo when we get out.
Never one not only, no not like the TV, whittle it away.
Sorta novel to stay largest and heavy, mountain full of clay.
And if it's over will you wanna go, I'm down, you know that I'm down.