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