there's cuts and bruises on my hands and it confuses everyone that slowly dances In the room In the room I am staring at your hands they look like defense wounds And so I wondered What were you fighting off? Maybe it was Love with the right amount of personification And your stance explains it all It's not a welcoming position You hide it well With your pockets held in by your hands And it confuses everyone when they see we're not glued together we're not glued together A piece of you gets lost every time you bleed You're exposed for the world to see exactly what you're made of but who has the time to look that closely? except for maybe me And your stance explains it all It's not a suprising position You hide it well When your fingers are lonely on your hands And it confuses everyone, even me when we see we're not glued together we're not stuck together there are cuts and bruises on our hands on our hands All this from a simple glance...