Girls are made of pretty things
Empty seas, hips to breathe but not me not me
I am made of blisters and thorns caulis fingers ready to tear smooth skin ready to be torn
Poor circulation led to cold feet
Your cold shoulder and your cold stare
In to my big brown eyes your fingers in my hair
We said the same lines the same cross to bear
I sleep in your bed when your not around ill always reach for you as glue
Consequences of gravity shove me into you
You are made of what you think your not
Rough fucks a weak belly id spoil you but your spoiled rot
You came from a mother you hate in a town of dead ends
A childhood of failed faith of failed gentlemen.