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Текст песни

It’s a language without a sound
Where lost things can be found
A brush of skin, a gentle graze
Getting lost in this haze
You paint a picture on my back
Keeping me on the track

The art of touch, a masterpiece
Bringing me a sweet release
Sketching lines of pure desire
Setting all my veins on fire
Gentle hands, a firm command
The best feeling in the land

Every inch you memorize
I see the focus in your eyes
Sculpting me with every move
Finding our perfect groove

The art of touch, a masterpiece
Bringing me a sweet release

Touch me...
Paint me...
Art.

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