Those kinds of things never bother me
|
cause I'm the local joke
|
her sun burnt eyes roll
|
she calls me 'the broken spoke'
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never been late to fuck with fate
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and see her phrases choke
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but part of me wants to watch and laugh
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as they go up in smoke
|
|
constantly crossing paths
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with all the empty traits
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you'd better leave things just unsaid
|
then left to contemplate
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all my words trip as they leave my lips
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I've come to set things straight
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she needs an excuse to end things and
|
become the things you hate
|
|
-----------------
|
Local Joke
|
| Neon Indian |
