Lyrics
Opening right at the throat
When I fall asleep brimming at the edge of the bed
Breath turns into
Love in dormant hibernation
I walk through the snow just to take the B38
Home as a new descriptor for mom and dad
And the complex that reeks of dead animal stench
Distracts me from knives I'm supposed to sell
At least I can call Miss W Jones
Miss W Jones
Just an illusion taking coincidental
Forms repeating the comedy eleven again
It's a long wet month
Yet a greater loneliness exists in shadows of platonic
Journeys imprisoned by unlivable present
Seconds of kissing the climax
I'm slow to forget in half my unconsciousness
At least I can call Miss W Jones
Miss W Jones
When I fall asleep brimming at the edge of the bed
Breath turns into
Love in dormant hibernation
I walk through the snow just to take the B38
Home as a new descriptor for mom and dad
And the complex that reeks of dead animal stench
Distracts me from knives I'm supposed to sell
At least I can call Miss W Jones
Miss W Jones
Just an illusion taking coincidental
Forms repeating the comedy eleven again
It's a long wet month
Yet a greater loneliness exists in shadows of platonic
Journeys imprisoned by unlivable present
Seconds of kissing the climax
I'm slow to forget in half my unconsciousness
At least I can call Miss W Jones
Miss W Jones
