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This song is called, |
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"It's a metaphor, fool." |
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Sixteen names on my list |
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but none of them could ever get me high like this. |
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(YEAH!!!) |
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Got your scars in my wrist, |
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you're safe inside my fist. |
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(Now let the fun begin! Sing!) |
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All you are to me is dead skin, |
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flaking off my hand onto the pavement. |
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All you are to me is dead skin, |
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breakin' up my band won't bring you payment. |
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Woah! (Love like no other) |
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Woah! (We told your mother) |
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Woah! (Love like no other) |
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Woah! (I told your mother) |
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So here's the plan, |
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you're giving in to every sick demand. |
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Buying the band our own apartment. |
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Here is your past: |
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flashing forward out to whip your ass, |
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into the form adorn when you were born. |
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Woah! (Love like no other) |
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Woah! (We told your mother) |
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Woah! (Love like no other) |
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Woah! (I told your mother) |
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All you are to me is dead, |
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All you are to me is dead, |
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All you are to me is dead skin. |
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(Come on!) |
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All you are to me is dead, |
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Sixteen bullets split your head, |
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All you are to me is dead skin. |
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(Go! Go! Go!) |
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All you are to me is dead, |
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All you are to me is dead, |
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All you are to me is dead skin. |
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All you are to me is dead, |
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Sixteen bullets split your head, |
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All you are to me is dead skin. |
