Turn around there's those eyes again.
|
Turn around fake indifference and I.
|
Watch their cold, dark silhouettes disappear.
|
A hundred bodies fill this room.
|
And all their faces overdone.
|
Pain is foreign, foreign to us.
|
|
I don't even know you.
|
You won't even know I'm gone.
|
Was it something I did wrong?
|
Roses, roses cold.
|
Roses, roses sold out.
|
|
Turn around reds and whites again.
|
I'd sell my kicks for one more low tar.
|
Fevers hand in hand with shoelace bracelets.
|
Why are some girls so naive?
|
He didn't unbutton your blouse to see.
|
A better view of your heart.
|
Oh yeah, can't blame you for trying.
|
|
I don't even know you.
|
You won't even know I'm gone.
|
Was it something I did wrong?
|
Roses, roses cold.
|
Roses, roses sold out
|
|
Sing it soft.
|
Make it slow.
|
Apples parachute the boys back down.
|
Fill it up.
|
Overflow.
|
A new, improved modern way to feel.
|
I don't even know you.
|
You won't even know I'm gone.
|
Was it something I did wrong?
|
|
-----------------
|
Roses
|
| Meg & Dia |
