Lyric provided by www.seekalyric.com |
It’s a compulsion really out of my hands To tell you all about you making all the wrong plans But I grind my teeth, And I’m picking this scar Anything to make it through A night at the bar Leave me with flat teeth, with fresh wounds, Another nervous tick, Please leave me on the kitchen floor, With my dignity while I get sick Bleed me out like an open sore Say its me that makes you a whore Go ahead blame the moon and sun, then deny me Because that’s what makes this fun. You're just a symptom You're just a symptom You're just, your just a symptom You're just a symptom, your just You're just a symptom Just a symptom Bleed me out like an open sore Say its me that makes you a whore Go ahead blame the moon and sun, then deny me Because that’s what makes this fun |