Your face is smoking, on our parlour. Burning photos, I am stalking tonight. With a drink in my hand.
I’m going get in a time Machine.
And go back to 1993.
You’ll smell of me and you’ll call me sweet.
And I will walk away.
I’m going get in a time Machine.
And go back to 1993.
You’ll smell of me and you’ll call me sweet.
And I will walk away.
I feel like you’re a black hole, sucking life inwardly, and I planted a garden in the centre of you, for a reason.
Synergy.
It takes two, to not know what to do, until there’s nothing left, now, I’m scared I loved you to death. Calm d...