Where's the chick habit
that's supposed to be clinging to me?
I don't have some chick habit of believing that
there's meaning to loving someone.

So come along, bro.
My love is your worst homie.

Bang bang bang.
I **** you.
Bang bang bang
I *******.

I'm a burnout,
burnt to the ground...
and I'm taking the forests with me.

And your the plastic decorations
that melt to the ground
in the aftermath of my flames.
I wish I could melt with you,
but my body is already made of ashes.

And the things I find morose have changed
from being suspended from classes
to just breathing and spending money...
and smacking *******' *****.
If you should try to kiss her,
remember that she'll soon turn to ashes.

And while we're young
we'll forget about the explosions.
Because she's always the new thing
and if you light her up she'll just be
a display of fireworks to you.

And I'm searching for the harvest within myself,
so that for once I can make things bloom
destroying them with an exploding boom.
mais la nuit est jeune
and it will always be young.

*So we wash and dance and showcase ourselves
using symbols like roses and arrows.

My whisper is a high pitched scream,
I can never seem to be soft enough.

And I've never been a lover of books
but I love what they've done for themselves.
And I've never been a lover of poetry,
but I'm an author and lover of words.

So kiss them for me,
because I'm exhausted.

Kiss them for me in the still sound of music
and I'll scream though I don't want to.

You are the light,
but I live in a comfortable cave.