Three Fingers In Testo

Well it would take a mountain of men to move me
And that'd be a long way from the way that you spoke
And you read so clearly without break of breath or words redefining
I was stuck on my pride, and the skin, and the sinking it in
And you told me "Wipe your brow, clean me off. Give me time to figure it out."
Some songs we could sing and never mean them
Some songs leave a ring and you hate the few who were bold
Some burn up the sleeve and drive to far to remember
Well I wasn't lost, I was here, I was three fingers in
I was the junkyard and the bumper for the few feeling left I was the coat nail and the ice on the sheets of the drenched and the soaking wet
Well it'd be the bit and the reigns that broke all the teeth in the mouth
And it'd be the whip onthe foreskin for the few that had some left to spare
Some songs we could sing and never mean them
Some songs leave a ring and you hate the few that were bold
Some burn up the sleeve and drive too far to remember
Ahhhh