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Someone's ink and needles have written skin riddles on his body, bare before me except for these sketches. Signal and semaphore for things he won't talk about, quiet and shut about his padlocks and latches. My fingers trace his pictures and at each his breath catches. He says, "Why are you bare? SongtexteBare as the day day you were borne from your mother?" I say, "So you can tattoo me with the marks of a lover." The red trails of his fingernails, the bumping palette of his bony hip, the sharp tooth benearth the softest lip, the kiss obscures the bite. He sketched his designs on me all through the night. He finished and was sleeping, so I jumped the early flight. Now 1000 miles away, with the passing of the days, your colors fall from my skin like the moon smoothes out the waves. So quietly they left that I didn't see them fade. I don't need ink and needles to write me my excuse, the body does tattoo itself with old age and abuse. With lines pulled from the inside drawn from pain and revery, my body will tattoo herself with what you mean to me. Aus Songtexte Mania