I've sat at the cafe by the cracker factory,
practiced in a magic trick,
and my thoughts got ruined as you talked into an underlast of your bacon mix.

Said you mistaken everything in that tiny little bit for,
a, as you bitten through your strawberry lace.

Done up a mere attention in the form of a cup subber,
told you had left and it was going to waste.

Your pastimes consisted of the strange and twisted down the range,
and I loved that little game you had called.

Crying like a baby,
and I know you like to aggravate it in the rainy afternoons.

The next time that I caught my own reflection,
it was on its way to meet you.

Thinking of excuses to close bone.

You never looked like you was up on the side,
but your profile could,
not I feedback to you.

I was approaching your phone.

We'd called it out onto your Q5,
the pins like to the a,
shoot and pull your chest out like you never lost your war.

And though I tried to learn to suffer the indignity of a reaction,
there was no cracks to grasp or grasp to claw.

And your pastimes consisted of the strange,
twisted down the range,
and I loved that little game you had called.

Crying like a baby,
and I know you like to aggravate,
it in the rainy afternoons.

Uninvited,
born on our past impossible as everyone assumes you are.

Crying like a baby.

Your pastimes consisted of the strange,
twisted down the range,
and I loved that little game you had called.

Crying like a baby.

Crying like a baby.

Crying like a baby.

Crying like a baby.

Your pastimes consisted of the strange,
twisted down the range,
and I hate that little,
game you had called.

Crying.