THE TOURIST

I quite like how these jeans Look hanging ’round your knees And I love your dirty sneakers When you kick them off your feet I’d really like tofi nd The place between your eyes Where I kiss you on the forehead And make you smile every time I’m struggling to place My favorite freckled space Between your hair, hung like a telephone wire Swinging ’cross your face And right now you’re inside My favorite studio on Vinе Complaining ’bout a violin’s Misrepresentеd whine And I can’t wait to take you home Where I can have you all alone And overanalyze each part of you I’ve written in my phone See, I’ve started taking down All of my favorite little sounds That waltz around you in 3 quarter notes With each word you pronounce It kills me that you’ll leave Off in a jet over the sea But I hope the air in California Will forever taste of me.