my arms are full of humanitynni stole it from you when you were smokingnnand i know you won't miss itnnnot even a bitnnnnaccidents happennnbut you never didnni'm the forgotten change in your pocket nnof the old winter coatnnthe newspaper's stacking, neat foldnnnnoh, to be held againnnto be spent or readnnput aside againnnthat would be the greatest thingnnbut your fire's burning outnni think you know by nownnthat i'm getting sick and tirednnof waitingnnnnso we'll sit side by side and we'll starennhating that we share the same airnnthere's no room for speakingnnand nothing will ever be saidnnwe're the babies in cradles at nightnnsleeping peacefully but only out of frightnnthat if we wake upnnthe monsters will come track us downnnnnwe want to be held againnnto be close or deadnnsung to sleep againnnthat would be the greatest thingnnbut our fire's burning outnni think we know by nownnthat we're both sick and tired of waitingnnnnthe floors i sleep on at nightnnthey speak to menntheir strange voices tell mennall things truennyou say when something's dead, it's deadnntheres just no reviving itnnjust bury itnnand move on, move onnnnnoh, to be held againnnto be held againnnto be held againnnoh, oh