He turns his head, outside the streets are dead enough,
We fell on the bed and suddenly we were someone else,
Curled in your neck, arching my back, I taste you again,
Feel any embrace, there certainly is a limited view.
Do you think I don't mean it? I do.
I wanted you to love me as you had loved me once,
I was already willing when you drove out of sight,
Blending out late invalid to win you back,
I wanna love you so much more. sugar, when we meet again
Do you think I don't mean it? I do.
I'll gnaw out my last pair of shoes for you,
The ashtrays heat with my response to you.
But the liquor cabinet is empty Oh! Feeling this for you,
And the streets are slick with "more and more" 's for you.
Do you think I don't mean it. I do.
Writer(s): Debora Iyall, Frank Zincavage, Peter Woods
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