"You were bright like the business end of this cigarette, and so lost it was obvious and heavy. But none of that matters if your heart aches like pneumonia and everything you own is little shit. It's hard to care about you. Love has destroyed you."



This is about you, not me.
Well, it's about me, but only if this 'me' is thinking of you.


When it comes to my youth,
I only wish that I drank more,
shoulda slept with some girl,
whose name I can't remember.
Shoulda wrote a bunch of letters,
and actually sent them.
Shoulda been less bold,
less intense and less cynical.

Maybe there'll be girls who don't fuck you up,
just spend the winter drinking and taking drugs.

One scratch, three scrapes,
illegible notebooks.
These days, it takes,
so much patience.
Maybe there'll be girls who don't fuck you up,
maybe there'll be girls who don't fuck you up.

When it comes to my house,
I just fill it with small shit.
I should throw it all out,
and start buying new shit.
Call and wake me up,
cause I'll sleep when I'm dead.
I'd rather have your voice,
than nothing in my bed.

One scratch, three scrapes,
illegible notebooks.
These days, it takes,
so much patience.
Maybe there'll be girls who don't fuck you up,
maybe there'll be girls who don't fuck you up.