wash me scrub me rub bleach into my skin till i bleed those lies you fed me have rotted my insides don't hug me nor touch me even your pictures make. me. feel. dirty. my heart is broken
if blood were time my heart would be fine i would be lying. losing pints every day each and every friend would get the rhetoric i'd tell them that i'm ok. truth of the matter is
wash me scrub me rub bleach into my skin till i bleed those lies you fed me have rotted my insides don't hug me nor touch me don't look at me even your pictures make. me. feel. dirty.
more ink... and why not lets record this life paint our temples graffiti for our souls but the masses can't see hidden shades creating pictures stills moments caught and designs for living
that night dry crisp bitterness strangles the grass don't look down keep pushing shooting stars fizz by one, two, three, four, five as feet pound over and over
