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She walks into the outhouse |
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The cold night breathes into her face |
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The flies are standing still now |
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The moon it spills through the place |
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And she starts wondering it's like to be liked by everyone |
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And like everyone be just like anyone |
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And just wants to be so just like anyone |
|
She reaches through the darkness |
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Her fingers touch the porcelain seat |
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She spins and pulls her pants down |
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The cold air holds her like a theif |
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She starts wondering what they mean, do they just mean to be mean |
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And thinking about the scene, do they just want to be seen |
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And trying not to seem so just like anyone |
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The door comes screeching open |
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She walks into the evening air |
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She disappears in the darkness |
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All that's left's the faint smell of her hair |
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She's done wondering what it's like to be liked by everyone |
|
And like everyone be just like anyone |
|
And just wants to be so just like anyone |
|
And wondering what they mean, do they just mean to be mean |
|
And thinking about the scene, do they just want to be seen |
|
And trying not to seem so just like anyone |
