My sponge,
I squeeze what I need and run the tap again
A bunch of empty jars are what we have in the end
Am I chained to loving men who are sick like this?
Is this how a baby finds her end in a ditch?
Well I don't wish I didn't,
But I'd never do it again
Cut carefully now, put the scars where they'll count
Now the tissue is thick
It's better like this