Hey, Theresa, neighbours still a long way from the start

Selling secrets just to pay our dues and play our parts

Cold September brings the oldest longing in my heart

Words are kicking off a dust of wind of where we are

But I love you more, I love you more

Like kick drums on your bedroom door

And I throw on some piece of mind

But you still ain't the salesman kind

Now we're floundering like foals in brambles in the night

Now we're poking out our eyes to kill the end in sight

I would rather tell you yes than tell you that I might

I would rather tell you lies than give in to the fight

But I love you more, I love you more

Like kick drums on your bedroom door

And I throw on some piece of mind

But you still ain't the salesman kind

Theresa says the start can end in a bad way

When she sleeps, the coyote screams in her head

Theresa says the time has played with our own way

I can't find the hands to remind me that there's nothing in the way

But I want you more, I want you more

As if I'd never said before

And I'll throw on some piece of mind

But you still ain't the salesman kind