Out Of Memo Yellow Fingers
Sing for me you pretty thing
Sing a song you want to sing
Let it out don't push it in
I love the way you used to sing
I have a thing I'm breathing in
Can't find a use can't find a hint
Feels like a perfect match, a perfect fit
This thing I use to fill me in
Don't seem to care/it's bad I'm told
Black pitch I bear/this thing I hold
Between my yellow fingers
Still it seems in place, ok
Can't have it any other way
I love the taste the smell the paint
The kiss of smoke I give and take