Lying on the drainage board so still
Yesterday a leather glove from the slim hand of a woman.
The next time I saw one it was lying half frozen and twisted on the kerb..
And I, now I have my own private collection
All lined in rows when you open up the wardrobe doors
Now I have no room for my obsession
Lined up and labeled in neat little packets.
The next time I saw one it stuck inside my head
And became all that I could think about.
I'll think twice before I pick it up this time
Since I thought about what it had done
And where it had been and who it had belonged to
And I'll twice before I pick it up this time
I thought about who it might have done
And where it had come from and what it might have belonged to.
The next time I saw one I had that itching sensation
But my hands stayed by my sides and I couldn't take it.
And through wax seals and padlocks
A hand through my ribcage.
Past the choking I saw palms and fingers grasping shoulders, collarbone, crushing.
I imagined myself hacking desperately at a sea of appendages,
Forward and right, freeing myself like a butcher,
Feeling the mash of bone and sinew running slowly down the front of my body
And I couldn't take it any more,
I said, "I've got to go, I've got to get out of here,"
And I ran down the street,
I've got to get out of here,
I've got to go
Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings
"Gloves" as written by Joseph Spurgeon Faris Badwan
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
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