Stars a deep purple, set to Nine Inch Nails and Bowie
And my fingertips are grinding down trying to smooth the edges,
Waterlogged and heavy
I'm wading through currents in a dinghy, filled with foam,
Feeling fuzzy and just a little unlucky, trying to dock it back home
The whole boat smells of brine and guilt and I'm heading swiftly towards
Nothing,
So grab a life jacket and hoist it up,
**** it, aren't you coming?