Bulimic Beats
I thought we'd escape
I packed a fishing-line and counted on it
I thought we'd escape
I packed a fishing-line and counted on it
But dreaming is for moonrise
And moonlight ails these tired eyes
I treat him like a lady
I treat him as I would he unto me
Give Rose rose-seller a run for her money
With silicone and poetry
But it's the end of me
I thought it could change
I'd wake up one morning and find nothing to rearrange
I couldn't get there
Behind his wall of Sunday papers
I thought it could change
I'd wake up one morning and find nothing to rearrange
But dreaming is for moonrise
And moonlight ails these tired eyes
I treat him like a lady
I treat him as I would he unto me
Give Rose rose-seller a run for her money
With silicone and poetry
And it's the end of me
And here I am
Here I am
Here I stand
Here in my kitchen where I'm familiar with every brand
Here I am
A front line of labels where I witness custard's last stand
Here I am
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