Mitch Harris

Serve my head on a plate
Pulp my heart with ill will
I did trust you,
let to lust you, to be duped

Thanks for fucking nothing !
Serve my head on a plate
Pulp my heart with ill will
Sensed a mystique ? Turn to spent air ?
Killed it dead

Thanks for fucking nothing
Scap the dephts to salvage something
Thanks for fucking nothing
Drained my all, then drop the bombshell

True, we were not joined ?
Our evey feature spliced
Though you rushed in and took a lead
Three words spouted

This contagion
Crossed all divides
Caused a shift in protective focus

Three words flouted

Unnntimely end, I should've clicked ?
A sensory cut-out
A spoiling of the harmony,
of which we were about
I don't despise or demonise,
But I just know your form
Walk right out and move along,
and teap before you look