The jewels have fallen and broken apart.
Your face was forced out of memory and shoved into a
non-existent place.
Speculate and concentrate the thoughts in the ruins of Paris,
France.
Your face rubbed out so poorly it makes my lips curl in
disgust.
Fingers cast a dancing cholera upon my hips as they rage
through the flames of British pasts.
And mountains shake wildly along the western lands and the
rubble buries everything.
Un, deux, trois.
Italian foreground where the woman tips on her toes,
She dances feverishly to the Argentinean romance with her
hand gripped tightly around his.
Passion flies and magic is spread like the rapidness of
friendly fire,
Watch her dancing through the panic.
Watch her dancing through the panic.
Un, deux, trois.
And the statue stands with her hand up high in the center of
islands where the skyline glistens.
Your face couldn’t even help wipe away what crocodiles cry.
Seduce and abandon her with the perfect amount of fervor and an improper use of moral.
Quatre, cinq, six.
It was wicked you know, the candy coated apples weren’t caramelized
correctly.
It was inappropriate you know, the way the flowers wilted by
the windowsill.
It was unethical you know, the way the potholes form on
streets that are hardly traveled.
Quatre, cinq, six.
He isn’t turning around on a one way street,
She let him continue driving while she holds his hand from the
passenger seat.
At a yellow light he’ll speed away and race her heart
And he’ll only ever seem to let go when he shifts gears.
Un, deux, trois.
He has a name you know and it’s not yours.
I’d love to watch you fall simply because you refused me.
So go dance around like you usually would
And don’t ask me to call you back because you’re a selfish
shit
And I always knew you were arrogant I could still hear it in
your voice.
Quatre, cinq, six.
You’ve got some nerve you know.
Lay right down and take it slow, go take a shot of that poisonous
bullshit.
And lay her shitty perfumed body on your bed because you’ll
never do any better.
Sept, huit, neuf.
Take the Euros out of your pocket and put them in her knickers
you shit lover.
I stopped being romantic when you stepped on my toes, you’ll
never dance the same.
You’ll dance the dance of shame.
Un, deux, trois.
All because you were so secretive,
But I’ll tell you this—He is a sucker for sweets and he
actually cares,
And of course I’m not one to compare but I can feel the
closeness when we talk.
So take your fucking voicemail and shove it up your ass.
Un.
I don’t need you.
Duex.
I caught you dancing with the devil and she brought you to
your demise.
Trois.
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