SUNDAY MUNICH


In The Same Way Lyrics

His fingertips reach my frigid body
As again he's much too late
To find what he's reaching for
Strokes me as he would a prize
A desolate void behind his eyes
The game between wanting less and asking for more
Strikes a pinnacle here
In my bed
I believe

I hate this conversation
Where you pretend to listen
And sometimes understanding me
But most times missing the point

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