Fiona

Those boon times went bust
My feet of clay, they dried to dust
The red isn't the red we painted
Its just rust
And the signature thing
That used to bring a following
I have trouble now
Even remembering

So why did I kiss him so hard
Late last Friday night
And keep on letting him change all my plans
I'm either so sick in the head
I need to be bled dry, to quit
Or I just really used to love him
I sure hope thats it

I knew that to keep in touch
Would do me deep in dutch
Cuz it isn't the rush of remembering
Its just mush
And the signature thing
Is only growing harrowing
I should have no trouble now
To keep from following...

The early cars
Already are
Drawing deep breaths past my door
And last night's phrases
Sick with lack of basis
Are still writhing on my floor

And it doesn't seem fair
That your wicked words should work
In holding me down
No, it doesn't seem right
To take information
Given at close range
For the gag
And the bind
And the ammunition round

Conversation once colored by esteem
Became duologue as a diagram of a play for blood
Took a vacation, my palate got clean
Now I could taste your agenda
While you're spitting your cud

And it doesn't make sense
I should fall for the kingcraft of a meritless crown
No, it doesn't seem...