Those boon times went bust
|
My feet of clay, they've dried to dust
|
The red isn't the red we painted,
|
It's... just... rust
|
That signature thing that used to bring a following
|
I have trouble now, even remembering
|
|
So why did I kiss him so hard late last friday night
|
And keep on letting him change all my plans
|
I'm either so sick in the head
|
I need to be bled dry to quit
|
Or I just really used to love him
|
I sure hope that's it
|
|
I knew that to keep in touch would do me deep in dutch
|
'Cause it isn't the rush of remembering, it's just mush
|
And that signature thing is only growing harrowing
|
I should have no trouble now to keep from following
|
|
So why did I kiss him so hard late last friday night
|
And keep on letting him change all my plans
|
I'm either so sick in the head
|
I need to be bled dry to quit
|
Or I just really used to love him
|
I sure hope that's it
|
|
Those boon times went bust
|
My feet of clay, they've dried to dust
|
The red isn't the red we painted,
|
It's... just... rust
|
That signature thing that used to bring a following
|
I have trouble now, even remembering
|
|
So why did I kiss him so hard late last friday night
|
And keep on letting him change all my plans
|
I'm either so sick in the head
|
I need to be bled dry to quit
|
Or I just really used to love him
|
Or I just really used to love him
|
Or I just really used to love him
|
I sure hope that's it
|
|
-----------------
|
Used To Love Him
|
| Fiona Apple |
