I don’t want money and I don’t want fame
infamy is enough
and his touch like a water drop on my wilting flower

I could just play house with him
why go to work
when we can lie and swing
in the balcony
light shining over me
let you undress me
it’s what you do best with me

I haven’t had the will to talk lately
the rambunctiousness in me has gone dry
like a wilting flower
watching us kiss against the mirror
you telling me we’re gonna break it
and I just had my 7 years of bad luck
so I don’t care

you take me down the elevator
to buy nachos and two coke bottles
just to empty them over woke shows and cuddles
I wanna be jumping into puddles
not into conclusions
I wanna fake my death and start over
in Rosemead where I’ll be having said I made it
smile and roll over

I hate when things get complicated
I hate when I feel so alone that your touch feels like a daydream
like a shadow
just imaginary
like you’re farther than you actually are and I’ve been lying to myself
to keep me happy
but I’m not happy when I’m without you
I don’t wanna do anything except kiss your lips and sleep at night with you
that’s honestly the only thing I have the will to do
but it’s not like I’m dead inside
just a little dry
like a wilting flower