"don't stick your hand in there,"
she said, "it'll shock you."
but you want to... and you want to
well, momma said, "don't go looking at the sun,"
but momma don't you, don't you know
that's where the fun is? that's where the fun is?
it's in the sights of the burning sun?
(heard the windmill suck you out; i'd like to try it
thermal take you up and out; i'd like to fly it to the moon)
just like second hand smoke,
it cuts my eyes and it burns my throat
to read the words and the letters you wrote
ot cuts to parts often unexposed.
second hand smoke, it's like a lung full of guilty holes
that breathe the words that say "go for the throat,"
or what it's worth just to know you could get this close
(maybe if you step on my feet I'll dance free-er
maybe if you tell me you then I'll tell me-er)