Put your tears back into your eyes
|
Adjust your hair
|
I am in no mood for theatrics
|
Or fake despair
|
It almost makes me hunger
|
For symbols, signs, and semaphore.
|
Subtle shades of metaphor too ingenious to ignore.
|
Instead of that you sit there and cry,
|
You moan, you lie.
|
You crumple like an old piece of tinfoil
|
You claim you¡¯ll die.
|
What the hell possessed me to ever catch a date with you?
|
I should have known that it was wrong
|
To trust the judgment of my schlong.
|
Put your tears back (your tears back), yeah.
|
I hate the way you drool when you talk
|
I hate your clothes.
|
Moses knows his roses and I know
|
It¡¯s time to go.
|
Thirty-Something episodes,
|
Forced amusement at your joes.
|
Daisy chains and yogurt stains
|
Sneaking under windowpanes.
|
You think I¡¯m not aware of your script
|
So well rehearsed
|
The close-up camera follows your lipstick
|
Back in your purse.
|
If you were better at it
|
Then maybe we could still be friends,
|
Write and talk and keep in touch
|
As it is I hate your guts!
|
Put your tears back (your tears back) yeah.
|
|
-----------------
|
Put 'Em Back
|
| Pain (American Band) |
