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1. |
.movie star.
05:05
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His face like the sun,
His hair like the movies
Couldn’t say it again,
Couldn't pretend
But his wife’s awful pretty
Encased in glass,
Playing pretend
But i know that you want me
The taste of innocence,
Yeah it haunts me
Ferris wheel
Around my heart again
You said the kids still play pretend
And smile like the movies
Barefaced and honest
Unaware of what the cost is
I take your hand
And we jump off
It’s like our innocence
Has been crushed by the rocks
My glass is half empty,
Half full of blood,
I hope you'll wait for me
While you're still young
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2. |
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At the center of everything,
There’s a watch
In the center of the universe i made you up inside
That bleeds into
The wrist i fabricated
There’s a watch
I can never take my eyes off
But he’s in my head now
Naked,
Tethered and hungry
Like saturn,
He takes his rings off before he steps outside
Cause word travels fast
And i'm not going hungry
Its time
I'm holding on to the minutes like a lifeline
There's a watch
In the valley
In the house i used to live in
There's a watch
In the hotel
Hiding underneath the mattress
There's a watch
And i can’t stop staring
Because you’re fabricated
Holding onto the light
Till the memory’s faded
In the corner of the world
Where i wait
For the minute hand to fold into itself and finally break
And take my life up up and away
I can't be late
Waiting for you
To wait for me
But i've been dead now
For what seems like 20 years
It's in my head rolling around
Waiting for the clock to strike 12
And in my head its off by 5
But i'm not going alive
Tell him there's no way that i’m gonna survive
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3. |
...trophy wife...
03:15
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Mary, don’t you wanna be a wife?
That kind of thing would suit your pretty face
If i croon and wrap you in a bow real nice,
Would that subtract from the price?
I wanna put you on display,
Everything except your arms and legs.
See, i was born to criticize,
Objectify, collect your shame
My love wont hide the emptiness inside your mind
Reserved for me
I need someone to own,
Someone to call a home.
I’m starting to grow tired of your tone
The little things, the way you answer the phone
To me you’re like a potted plant,
You sit there mindlessly without a thought
And bide your time,
Perfect the art of pretending you're fine
I need someone to own,
Someone to call a home.
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dead boyfriend Denver, Colorado
soiled, infested songs of rapture
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