You steal the air out of my lungs, you make me feel it
I pray for everything we lost, buy back the secrets
Your hand forever's all I want
Don't take the money
Don't take the money
(I'm in love and you've got me, runaway)
𖹭
Here they were at last face to face with the problem, which, through all the years of silence and evasiveness, had lain as close to the surface as a corpse too hastily buried!
Edith Wharton, Old New York