when i catch sight of your face
and the late light falling on it
i feel scared and i scope the area out for a good place to hide
when i feel the way your fingers
wiggle in my palm
i feel warm and i feel good inside
and i know that you’re wearing a wire
but as the sun becomes a blazing orange ball of fire
i lose interest in this and other such inconsequential questions
when you kick off your shoes
and i see the wet grass give way underneath your feet
and the sunset rears up once more to its burial ground
well, you look so sweet
and i know you’ll be turning me in
but i also know your real name’s not amy lynn
and as the orange globe rears up to swallow us, too,
i see you look at me and figure out what i know about you
well, i’m not telling
i’m not telling you anything
