He comes on like a messiah
But true colors show he's just another warhol
Hanging second-place decorations for all his candy's & edie's
Meanwhile I'm overdosing on his love in the bathroom stall*

Now I'm forced to sit and watch you leave
As I desperately point out
That the trees aren't bare yet
And it feels like I'm drowning in a helmet made of weeds
And I know you never wanted to take on my disease
These tears are fierce but these eyes are weak
And I'm left to paint the years with a crooked branch
And a palette of whatever shade I chose to bleed
All because you won't let me follow your lead
I'm screaming at the top of my lungs, but you refuse to hear the noise
I guess this is the moment when men become little boys