Glass

Written by
Ingrid Michaelson

rolled around on kitchen floors
tied my tongue in pretty bows with yours
and now we pass and just like glass
i see through you, you see through me like i'm not there

you could make my head swerve
used to know my every curve
and now we meet on a street
and i am blind. i can not find the heart i gave to you

sometimes what we think we really want we don't
sometimes what we think we want we really don't
sometimes what we think we love we don't

and i am blind. i can not find the heart i gave to you
and when we meet on a street
then i am blind. i can not find the heart i gave to you

© 2015 Ingrid Michaelson. All Rights Reserved.