she spends her days inside growing old
some day she will die, so it goes
i've wasted my whole life growing old
some day i will die, so it goes
she hates the way these walls look
like off-white impostors of upscale living
she hates the sound of her own voice,
the smell of her perfume, the taste of her own blood
heavy hearts stay in place
our blood is made of lead and concrete
i love the way her wardrobe
reflects the weather on the t.v.
i love the color of her hair,
the smell of her perfume, but i'll never love her
heavy hearts stay in place
our blood is made of lead and concrete
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