I sit here in the corners,
Trying to make sense of what I don't have.
He fumbles with his keys telling me,
"Shut the **** up, and get over it."

And the only one that gets it,
Is my Lana del Rey.
And all my love is living miles away.
I'm sitting alone.

He comes home from that midnight walk,
To the bar strip. (A bit tipsed.)
I haven't moved from this spot and he tells me,
"Get the **** up now, get a ******* grip on it.

"Crying all the time isn't going to fix it."
Oh, but I want to be perfect.
Ignore the puke underneath the toilet rim.
I must have missed it when I cleaned my messes yesterday.

But you've always ignored that anyway.
And Lana is the only one who gets me,
Singing,
Me and God, we don't get along.

Crack another beer,
Lemme see that little plastic baggie.
Oh, tell me this is pure.
I'll let you love me if this gets me high.

Burning the foil,
My body reacts to the odors,
This is how you treat your baby right.
I grip my straw tight.

The world will think I'm pretty,
And this ****** up love will be okay.
My heads in the sky and I'll never die.

Grim Reaper's can't reach this high.