Make me reflective, make me introspective
Make me the violence, and explain my silence
'Cause it's never too late to fill me with hate...
So pull away, go, make me look cool
And she looks best, Sunday mornings, coming down
So what will I achieve, and who should I believe
I lick her slit, as it tightens grip
My drugged up kiss. So hey, have something else
It's hard to conceal the way I feel
And she looks best, Sunday mornings, coming down
It seems that some wanker makes her darker
Sights her hair
