Those boon times went bust
|
My feet of clay they
|
dried to dust
|
The red isnt the
|
red we painted Its
|
just rust
|
And the signature thing
|
That used to bring
|
a following
|
I have troble 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 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 isnt the
|
rush of remembering Its
|
just mush
|
And the signature thing
|
Is only growing harrowing
|
I should have no trouble now
|
To keep from followinig
|
So why did I
|
kiss him so hard
|
Late last friday night
|
And keep on letting him
|
change all my plans
|
I'm either 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
|
|
Those boon times went bust
|
My feet of clay
|
they dried to dust
|
The red isnt the
|
red we painted Its
|
just rust
|
And the signature thing
|
That used to bring
|
a following
|
I have troble 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 sick in the head
|
I need to be bled dry to quit
|
Or I just
|
really used to love him
|
Or I just
|
really used to love him
|
Or I just
|
really used to love him
|
I sure hope thats it
|
|
-----------------
|
Tymps (The Sick In The Head Song)
|
| Fiona Apple |
