Mitch Harris
Serve my head on a plate
Pulp my heart with ill will
I did trust you,
let to lust you, to be duped
Thanks for fucking nothing
!
Serve my head on a plate
Pulp my heart with ill will
Sensed a mystique ? Turn
to spent air ?
Killed it dead
Thanks for fucking nothing
Scap the dephts to salvage
something
Thanks for fucking nothing
Drained my all, then drop
the bombshell
True, we were not joined ?
Our evey feature spliced
Though you rushed in and
took a lead
Three words spouted
This contagion
Crossed all divides
Caused a shift in
protective focus
Three words flouted
Unnntimely end, I
should've clicked ?
A sensory cut-out
A spoiling of the harmony,
of which we were about