*It's well past midnight
In a room full of pink
Lustful stares
Meet my satire brink
I can’t have
A wandering eye;
It’s you that I miss
So I’ll go home and cry
I'm thinking of numbers
And the time in my head
How long it’ll be
Until you’re back in my bed
You said from the start
“You can do better”,
Then why do my eyes
Get wetter and wetter?
My chest isn't tight
From the nitrates and oxides
I don’t have time
For bleach blonde peroxides*