Stand on the rooftop and gaze into the rips, where the stars, they drew a promise on his skin with needle tips.
Breathing deep the green-grey smoke, guilty spirals in brown eyes. Holding hearts with Porcelain Doll because boy, it gets you high.
  You can paint her face like mother's, sign your name in Freckles noir, but only smile disheveled bitter at the thought that she were yours.
So put your hands up to your mouth and sew it shut with guitar strings, before you shout out to the world the "te amo" you cant sing.