come back when you can't remember, a single thing you own.
things just aren't quite the same when dirty needles scratch your bones. stop throwing your mind at the furniture, start throwing it at me. and colours bleed into a thousand shades now thursday's child all grown up and she's trying to get laid. i stole my accent from magazines i read, and write these things about all the things you said, and i'm not growing my hair for the sake of it, i'm doing it for you, and i'm clawing at crowds for the sympathy, i'll give you packaged misery. bet she's probably putting her clothes back on, i bet she's busy putting her clothes back on, i bet he's watching her put her clothes back on. come back when you can't remember, a single thing you own. things just aren't quite the same when dirty needles scratch your bones. i won't bother asking you again...