|
What she would like to do |
|
Is get you out of her head |
|
She's tried every trick |
|
She's so sick of thinking about it |
|
What's so special about you |
|
You're an ache she's learned to crave |
|
You're a blade too dull to raise |
|
But she cuts herself |
|
On you every night |
|
She's just dying |
|
To lay down the knife |
|
What she would love to do |
|
Is get you out of her bed |
|
She's played it over and over and over |
|
In her head |
|
But she cuts herself |
|
On you every night |
|
She's just dying |
|
To lay down the knife |
|
She clings to what's familiar |
|
She thinks a change would kill her |
|
What she ought to do |
|
Is put a gun to your head |
|
For all the things you said and did |
|
But what she will not do |
|
Is let you go before you're gone |
|
It's everything that's ever been wrong |
|
But it's all she's ever known |
|
So she cuts herself on you every night |
|
She's just dying to lay down the knife |
|
What she would like to do |
|
Is get you out of her head |
