Skinny jeans on the bench press You burn the candle at both ends If anyone asks why Then they're not worth your time Why am I so out of breath? Club sandwich pressed in north end Grittled shank on rye A gunshot at half time
Adoration of the mystic land That idea of me, who was that man? A wooly picket line Intestinal red wine Now it's hard not to suspect Your lying tell is bated breath I inhale for suspense You triggered my mammalian sighing reflex
So I take everything as a lesson Something I trained out of myself With mindless self-indulging confidence Indulging in whatever quick release I could muster Social media, carbohydrates and cannabis The world was my oyster And I was the knife by which they'd shuck But now he's dead, he's gone I fucking start anew I was a developmental beast, wrong version of myself Sixteen bathrooms Sixteen bedrooms Sixteen fridges 64-bit computers Fifteen of them Oh, how nice it must be To feel so bored
I just need to find Someone to tell me I'm just tiredTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
