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Turn around there's those eyes again. |
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Turn around fake indifference and I. |
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Watch their cold, dark silhouettes disappear. |
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A hundred bodies fill this room. |
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And all their faces overdone. |
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Pain is foreign, foreign to us. |
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|
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I don't even know you. |
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You won't even know I'm gone. |
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Was it something I did wrong? |
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|
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Roses, roses cold. |
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Roses, roses sold out. |
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|
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Turn around reds and whites again. |
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I'd sell my kicks for one more low tar. |
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Fevers hand in hand with shoelace bracelets. Why are some girls so naive? |
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He didn't unbutton your blouse to see. |
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A better view of your heart. |
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Oh yeah, can't blame you for trying. |
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|
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I don't even know you. |
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You won't even know I'm gone. |
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Was it something I did wrong? |
|
|
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Roses, roses cold. |
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Roses, roses sold out. |
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|
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Sing it soft. |
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Make it slow. |
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Apples parachute |
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the boys back down. |
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Fill it up. |
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Overflow. |
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A new, improved modern way to feel. |
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|
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I don't even know you. |
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You won't even know I'm gone. |
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Was it something I did wrong? |
