Legs so short
They don’t touch the ground
Waiting for the bus
And listening to the sound
Of kissing your soul
Star shaped
And soppy wet
As if my heart melt
Yes I felt
These plastic telephones
Bad reception on a good day
And I’m in a major city what the hell
Singin down a tin can, with a string thru a hole
I want to kiss your soul
I want to kiss your soul
How long will it take
And how many lips will I have to kiss to get to you?
What will be the calendar month?
Mark it in for me
I’m here on satellite, way below
Waiting on your call
All illuminated and lonely
If my soul had a colour
What would it be?
Singin down a tin can, with a string thru a hole
I want to kiss your soul
I want to kiss your soul
She kicked that can
It hit me in the head
It left a mark, spared me death
I ran out of breath
And for a minute there was quiet
Then the bus came
And off she went
I pulled out my worn out itinerary
That had the answers to everything
Then I sang down a tin can, with a string thru a hole
I want to kiss your soul
I want to kiss your soul