Lyrics
I'll be honest, I wasn't devastated
But you could've held my hands through this, baby
Let my mind run underneath warm jets
I run my hands through what's left
But we're getting older, baby
Don't have much longer, baby
Why am I preaching
To this choir, to this atheist?
Just like mine, versions of these belong to you
After a while
They're keeping me close to you
(Just like me, they long to be)
(Close to you)
Burt F. Bacharach, Christopher Breaux, Hal David, Josiah Sherman
BMG Rights Management, Downtown Music Publishing, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.