I don't wanna listen to you anymore
Spilling your icky gooey brain all over the table
Fingers turn to fists
Turn your music into discs
and I'll be in the car on my way home
With the powder still on the tip of my nose
Smells better that fresh air
Taste better than the blood I tasted on your tongue
Sit, it feels better than sitting on the hood while we go at 60 in a 45
he thinks about pineapples, I think about plums
I sip coca cola, he drowns in ***
No matter the amount of love he's in
Feelings are paper thin
As his words increase in amount
And loses track of what its about
He loses his mind
Because most of his brain has already leaked out