The Passions

We talked about the drugs and we
Decided to abstain but still we
Locked ourselves inside and then
My fingers locked behind your head
You hooked your pinkies on my jeans
I’m twenty-eight and you’re nineteen
Compassion, compassion
The innocent fun soon-to-be
Will start to feel like currency
As we try to get it on in bed
You’ve given me your home and head
You put on The Queen Is Dead
But I just want to talk instead
Compassion, compassion