Woorden: Planes Mistaken For Stars. Mercy. Little Death.

Deeded to dead desires, nursing thirsts, we've earned our ire.
Who's the hawk? Who's the dove?
It don't matter baby, we're both fucked.
A little death. A sleight of hand.
I bit your lip, you let me in.
A little white god, a little white lie.
We'll do whatever it takes to get by, knowing that it will never be enough.
Whisper baby, we're both fucked.
A little death. A sleight of hand.
I bit your lip, you let me in.
We chew our words before we spit, then swallow every ugly inch.
Whisper love, please sing it to me sweet, leave no clue where you'll be.
Whisper dove, shake it down sweet, where we fall is where we'll meet