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by Rustic Overtones

He whispers in the phone, all lips and teeth and tongue.
Sounds like his first kiss mixed with his first cigarette burn.
Sometimes when its not raining, I’ll burn down the diner.
Sometimes I’ll play the jukebox or watch it burn down to the vinyl.

It’s what somebody wants;
These are not my thoughts,
These are not my hands when they’re in gloves.
It’s what somebody wants;
These are not my thoughts,
These are not my hands when they’re in gloves.
It’s what somebody wants,
It’s what somebody wants.

I feel no remorse
Some things will run their course
But sometimes you go to make the way
Just to let the nature work
You can keep on crawling
I can keep on walking

It’s what somebody wants;
These are not my thoughts,
These are not my hands when they’re in gloves.
It’s what somebody wants;
These are not my thoughts,
These are not my hands when they’re in gloves.
It’s what somebody wants,
It’s what somebody wants.

It’s what they want
It’s what they want 

It’s what somebody wants;
These are not my thoughts,
These are not my hands when they’re in gloves.
It’s what somebody wants;
These are not my thoughts,
These are not my hands when they’re in gloves.
It’s what somebody wants,
It’s what somebody wants.

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