viernes, 21 de mayo de 2010

Those boon times went bust
My feet of clay, they dried to dust

The red isn't the red we painted
Its just rust

And the signature thing
That used to bring a following

I have trouble now
Even remembering

So why did I kiss him so hard
Late last Friday night

And keep on letting him change all my plans

I'm either so sick in the head
I need to be bled dry, to quit

Or I just really used to love him

I sure hope thats it

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