(For S.C.) Weathered affection matched against dumb, young lovers in backseat, breathless lust, My hand in the grooves in the back of your hand, Carved out by me and my chronic anxiety
I'm yours, And you belong to me, As miles and miles of lines and pavement pass beneath
Weathered affection matched against cheap quick thrills, That are financed by depression and as-seen-on-T.V.,
I'm yours, And you belong to me
If it lasts, Is it happiness? I think it's something more, It's something more, It's something with weight