There's a hunger in my hands
I try to rub into your body
Now I don't believe in this
And I don't believe in you
And I don't believe in me
(Came blue)
Your eyes are drunk, real drunk
Why don't you close them?
Your eyes are drunk, real drunk
Why don't you close them
Like I pictured you to do?
Twenty-seven years
There's still a hunger
I try to rub into your body
Now I don't believe in this
And I don't believe in you
And I don't believe in me
Why don't you close them?
Why don't you close them
Like I pictured you to do?
There's still a hunger
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I cannot keep my hands off you, and I hope that as I touch you, you reciprocate my sexual desire.
These feelings are merely lust - not love.
Your eyes betray your intoxication. I imagined you, in this moment, to have your eyes closed in ecstatic surrender. Or at least in non-confrontational acceptance.
Well into adulthood, I still feel these overwhelming adolescent urges/desires.
inlove.