My Gloves
My feet are frozen
But my hands are in my gloves
I reach out to touch you
And disperse air from your lungs
And a wave of confusion
Poses as a wicked flaw
I don't hate this weather
It's too sharp to catch us all awake
When you say they're playing my favorite band
I shrink
When you touch my shoulder I always
Have to blink
Save me from the static
That's in your fingertips!
But my hands are in my gloves
I reach out to touch you
And disperse air from your lungs
And a wave of confusion
Poses as a wicked flaw
I don't hate this weather
It's too sharp to catch us all awake
When you say they're playing my favorite band
I shrink
When you touch my shoulder I always
Have to blink
Save me from the static
That's in your fingertips!
Credits
Writer(s): Beverley Buchanan
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
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