What is it like to be hung?
Or to be given to someone?
How does it feel to be bound
By the taste of an artist only recently found?
I, I find I know too well
I, I find I know too well
When it was wet, I could see
It was too bright and you would agree
The thing about watching paint dry is
The face doesn't change, just the look to the eye
I, I find I know too well
I, I find I know too well
I, I find I know too well
I, I find I know too well
Getting you home was no joke
All through the ride and we never even spoke
But now that you're here, I should say
That I like how you look and I can't look away
I, I find I know too well
I, I find I know too well
I, I find I know too well
I, I find I know too well