I got wrecked and I messed it up said some dumb stuff that ticked you off you got off at the Broadway stop called me chocking back your sickened sobs I know I was not quite the best to you we were both as true as we knew the fixed games, they take two to play queens of quart and kings of clay now there's a hair clip on my bedside stand and your clothes are in a plastic bag folded neatly by helpful hands slow and hateful of where we stand we are statues and our legs are strong striking likeness of the worst of wrongs but you're in one wing as a work of art and I'm stuck in the hall of buck-shot hearts cut the necks off your t-shirts leave them lost in my room not that ambers or teals hurt it's these oblivious blues let the battery die down on your cellular phone we’ll talk tomorrow I’ll still let you borrow whats left of my soulTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
