Yeah, it's dynamite, the way he takes his life and then you jump in with your qicked croquet heart
and then you fill your self with cancer as he burns at your feet
and then you spill your guys that sexy disemboweling chic
it's like a kiss/kiss on the forehead
and it's how you kiss them that just cracks my skin
through it's time to steal another kiss from your broad shoulders
it's time you lick my heart and burn my eyes with your hip acid filled caress
you keep the endings coming and I'll keep the vomit flowing
your mating calls are showing that the best thing in life aren't worth loving
what if I lined my lips with your poison then you'd better kiss me;
you'd better make me give in, make me your everything
come and get your kiss on the forehead
we'll blame it on the housing projects
what an index that could make for what your body is scarred from the bombs on the first floor
we'll blame it on the housing projects
then flaunt that lower class depression
just like you flaunt the fact that you can't feel for nothing

18 years trying to get it right

ballistic hematoma tries to suck the scars from the bombs