Return to who you were for her
I'll be the milk for your bones
Take my skin like the porcelain cure
I'll be the water over your tired hands
Run your tongue through telephone spirals
Be the second side of my boomerang
If take-out plates try to hang from your eyes
I'll sautee whatever makes you clean again
Keep a fire under your throat
Keep it there when you think of me
I'll walk you backwards like I have before
Trying to breathe in what I think you see
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