It’s a compulsion really out of my hands To tell you all about you making all the wrong hands But I grind my teeth, and I’ll pick this scar Anything to make it through a night at the bar
Leave me with flat teeth, with fresh wounds, another nervous tick Please leave me on the kitchen floor, with my dignity while I get sick Bleed me out like an open sore Say its me that makes you a whore Go ahead blame the moon and sun, then deny me Because that’s what makes this fun.
Your just a symptom Your just a symptom Your just, your just a symptom Your just a symptom, your just Your just a symptom just a symptom
Bleed me out like an open sore Say its me that makes you a whore Go ahead blame the moon and sun, then deny me Because that’s what makes this funTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
