Blake Mills
Just Out Of View
A queue that wore the mark of her thumbnailhas been pulled down from the wallDaring the billiard ball to bait its own narrow trapThe young one finds the doorman quite good lookingHe considers me a fag, because he's the judge of "all that"He and maybe a dozen bros that have been unloved by their dadsThe young one goes to gather all her catcallsI'll play dead through every song that ever tried to write those wrongsthat will start a talk we don't wanna haveI see the mark from that little thumbnailNow she's done with meJust look at what she's done to meOut of sight, without a mindLike a mess in a room you don't seeLayin' in the queue, just out of view
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