You can't just keep waltzing
Leaving clothes on my bedroom floor,
Like nothing really matters,
You should be more to me by now
than just heartbreak in a short skirt.
You kind of remind me of scars on my
arms that I made when I was a kid,
With a disassembled disposable
razor I stole from my dad,
When I thought that suffering was
That weighed down on wise heads,
And not just something to be avoided,
Something normal people dread.
well of course I've changed.
With all the things I've done
I'd be a machine if I had
But you're still back where we started,
you haven't changed at all.
You're still trying to live like a kid,
like you can always have it all.
You know you kind of remind me of scars
on my arms that I hid as best I could,
That I covered with ink, but in the
right kind of light they still bleed through,
Showing that there are some things I just can't
change no matter what I do:
The tell-tale signs signs of being used,
Of being trapped inside of you.
You're a beautiful butterfly
Burned with a branding iron
Onto my outsides into my insides
To show off your ownership.
Burned into my naked skin,
Onto my outsides into my insides.
You'll always remind me of scars on my
arms that I know will never fade.
And it's not like it's something I think
about each and every day -
I just occasionally catch myself scratching them,
as if they'd ever go away.
But these tell tale signs are here to stay,
and in the end you know that's OK.
You will al ways be a part of my patched-up
patchwork patchwork taped-up tape-deck heart.
