You turn your head, I rest on you
Beneath my skin, inside my bones
You guide my hand, what can I do but touch you

You lift your head, I press on you
The more you move the less I know
You guide my hand, what can I do but touch you

Heavy arms, breathing, passion, fever
The burden of joy
Flavor, rhythm, turning, sweet
A gift from the woman who shone in the dark

Temper, promises, jealousy, tears
The burden of joy
Pressure, aching, repeating, sweet
A gift from the woman who shone in the dark

The body extends like a thought
Like something you almost remember
Your memory is made of light
With your face shining like fate
Becoming something I can keep

Heavy arms, breathing, passion, fever
The burden of joy
Flavor, rhythm, turning, sweet
A gift from the woman who shone in the dark

You turn your head, I rest on you
Beneath my skin, inside my bones
You guide my hand, what can I do but touch you

I lie here making a weapon out of desire
You hear me from far away but
My voice does not touch you
I throw out a net, waiting to gather you in
So I can keep you like a photograph

You turn your head, I rest on you
Beneath my skin, inside my bones
You guide my hand, what can I do but touch you

You raise your head, I press on you
The more you move the less I know
You guide my hand, what can I do but touch you

With warm hands, I die, you die,
Where is he, where am I,
Without laughter I am dead,
Dead and dead
In the pitch dark night
Arrow shot at him

Heavy arms, breathing, passion, fever
The burden of joy
Flavor, rhythm, turning, sweet
A gift from the woman who shone in the dark

Temper, promises, jealousy, tears
The burden of joy
Pressure, aching, repeating, sweet
A gift from the woman who shone in the dark

You turn your head, I rest on you
Beneath my skin, inside my bones
You guide my hand, what can I do but touch you

Your memory is made up of light
It takes up residence and shines out
Like a photograph of fire
Like the light of my own body in the dark
Like something you almost remember

You turn your head, I rest on you
Beneath my skin, inside my bones
You guide my hand, what can I do but touch you

You lift your head, I press on you
The more you move the less I know
You guide my hand, what can I do but touch you

Copyright: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Writer(s): ANTON JOHN FIER, LYDIA KAVANAGH