I won't leave it to you This task of burning through a Wounded year, my darling, Never once was a sorry man I want my baby on my arm I want my baby on my arm I want my baby on my arm Two lips angled on yours In the park I thought I told you Once, maybe two times, as I guess I was right, you weren't that special to me I want my baby on my arm I want my baby on my arm I want my baby on my arm Back on Sunday Leaving Monday I'm going down Back on Sunday Leaving Monday I'm going down Pretty paper playing On a distant radio station Extra old and an angry, Does the faith of trails address the sound? I want my baby on my arm I want my baby on my arm I want my baby on my arm I want my baby on my arm I want my baby on my arm I want my baby on my arm