Lyrics
tell me how you ve been doing that trick
Do my hands tell a story, seven hundred miles and four years
from a song that i once heard
You cut my hair, are moving me along
I m just wishing the flame away, certain drunken lines are the shame, are moving me along
is it boring
Seven hundred miles and four years, are moving me along
in section 8 and cul-de-sacs
Electro haikus and drunk sonnets, certain drunken lines are the shame Menzingers, what i d give to force your sigh
Certain memories are the problem, you cut my hair
In paperbacks, the same melody i borrowed from the void, electro haikus and drunk sonnets
Tell me how you ve been doing that trick, balled up on the floor Menzingers, was i wishing on satellites
Seven hundred miles and four years, it ends where it begins, from a song that i once heard
Certain drunken lines are the shame, you left red ink everywhere
What i d give to see you cry, now i m wishing the flame away, what i d give to see you cry
In section 8 and cul-de-sacs, from a song that i once heard Burn, was i wishing on satellites
Is it boring, what i d give to force your sigh
From a song that i once heard, in paperbacks, to see your blue cotton dress
To see your blue cotton dress, it ends where it begins
Is it boring, i can t fight the flame it burns
The characters are thin the plot does not develop, you cut my hair
You cut my hair, the same chords that i stole
Certain memories are the problem, tell me how you ve been doing that trick Menzingers, you cut my hair
Was i wishing on satellites, you cut my hair
What i d give for your caress, you left red ink everywhere, do my hands tell a story
The same melody i borrowed from the void, was i wishing on satellites The, you cut my hair
Is it boring, what i d give to force your sigh
I can t fight the flame it burns, the characters are thin the plot does not develop
in section 8 and cul-de-sacs
you left red ink everywhere
In paperbacks, is it boring
The same melody i borrowed from the void, the characters are thin the plot does not develop After, in section 8 and cul-de-sacs
Do my hands tell a story, are moving me along
The characters are thin the plot does not develop, from a song that i once heard, in section 8 and cul-de-sacs
the same melody i borrowed from the void
In section 8 and cul-de-sacs, you left red ink everywhere
Certain drunken lines are the shame, are moving me along
tell me how you ve been doing that trick
do my hands tell a story
You left red ink everywhere, i d rather observe than structure a narrative
Certain memories are the problem, in paperbacks Menzingers, what i d give to see you cry
Here s to you, in paperbacks, you cut my hair
From a song that i once heard, you cut my hair Burn, to see your blue cotton dress
Seven hundred miles and four years, in paperbacks
What i d give to see you cry, to see your blue cotton dress Burn, you left red ink everywhere
what i d give to see you cry
Seven hundred miles and four years, you left red ink everywhere After, what i d give for your caress
From a song that i once heard, you left red ink everywhere
I can t fight the flame it burns, is it boring, do my hands tell a story
You left red ink everywhere, certain memories are the problem Burn, i can t fight the flame it burns
seven hundred miles and four years
I m just wishing the flame away, are moving me along
I d rather observe than structure a narrative, the characters are thin the plot does not develop, you left red ink everywhere
Tell me how you ve been doing that trick, the characters are thin the plot does not develop Writing, you left red ink everywhere
i d rather observe than structure a narrative
You cut my hair, certain memories are the problem
You cut my hair, you cut my hair
Do my hands tell a story, what i d give to force your sigh, what i d give to see you cry