Her house was painted a little off-white, just like herself, thin strips and faded patterns lined the corners of her bedroom floor.
She pressed her body close, her sweet thoughts kept silly.
Everything about her was off, really.
The way she moved, the way she spoke.
The way she handled strangers and blokes.
But with me she felt alive.
People, clothes and words, that\'s where I thrive.
So we locked ourselves behind her door, it was great inside.
So why don\'t you just open wide.
She hid her legs, her face, her hair.
Her secrets kept with tender care.
The bed was rumpled, sheets askew.
All that\'s left was me and you.
So, we let the world slip by, we stayed inside.
All you have to do is open wide.
Saturday, Sunday, seven o\'clock, every week.
We whispered words we were too scared to speak.
The clock ticked slow in her bedroom light.
While moments lingered, fading into night.
I watched the hours glide, there was no need to decide.
I just want you to do one thing for me and open wide.