Everything I touch turns to flies.
He called me Magic Eyes,
but didn't hesitate to forget
and get scared like all the rest I've met.
Who wants to be a fly anyway?

Everything I touch feels like gun metal.
Cold and deadly
This expensive paint brush
is a trigger I crush
everyday:
A sharp accessory medley.

Everything I touch enters my blood stream
and feels only like a dream
where you made me scream  
and drive away.
My cells thrive on bribes anyway.