Blue

Your hands weren't as blue

As you told me they were

Oh, you've been painting all those things

Like some kind of bowerbird

And your lips are

And your hands

I can't stop checking in the mirror

I can't stop checkin'

And I keep waking up in the night

I keep examining my body

I can't stop checkin' in the mirror

I better think of something

'Cause I'm turning

Am I turning?

Am I turning?

Am I turning?

I think I don't feel the same

On the back of my neck

I better think of something

I better think

But your lips are

And your hands

I can't stop checking in

I can't stop checkin'

And I keep waking up in the night

I keep examining my body

I can't stop checkin' in the mirror

I better think of something

'Cause I'm turning

Am I turning?

Am I turning?

Am I turning?

Am I turning?

Your hands weren't as blue

As you told me they were

But I think I'm turning

I think I'm