Therapist Songtext
von Real Clothes

You′re a therapist
But you only use your hands

They can't cure knots that dot your fragile land

And the felt grain of hurt,
That rests inside her breast
Brought tears to your eyes, your eyes
With the ache of every breath

Wrapped up in ashes
Your face as grey as morning dew


And it′s not me,
It's you

And the felt grain of hurt,
That rests inside her breast
Brought tears to your eyes, your eyes
With the ache of every breath

It's not over
It′s not over
It′s not over

We're not over