Sinkside Conversations

(mmm-hmm) Standing by a stranger's kitchen sink

Staring at the bubbles on the brink

My thumb is hovering above the screen

Almost sending what I really mean

Wet clay spinning on the wheel

Trying to shape the way I feel But it slips right through

my hands (right through my hands)

Oh, let the wheel spin round and round

Spinning till the truth is found

I'm holding onto what we made

Before the summer colors fade

Someone else's dirty plates and glass

Watching the midnight shadows pass

I lock my phone and set it down

In the quiet of this studio town

Just a little wet clay on my sleeve

Almost ready to believe (mmm)