Filthy, those private filthy whispers, My name sounds better when it's said by you.
- Paint, how this craving paints us, The type of colour you can never quite wash off.
I donβt scrub, And you smile at the new stains.
If you want to, Then you can love me too.
Together weβll once again scrape the remains of us off the floor Mold them into fine art People might say itβs messy But I know how beautiful we are
After all, I got an eye for beauty I have an eye for you.