| I think I told you once before
|
| Apprehension locks my door
|
| Fake flowers for your concern
|
| Leave me licking all these sores
|
| Or spin me a web of empathy
|
| Just knit your fingers through your hair
|
| Because it hurts so good
|
| To know you’re unaware
|
| A bouquet for your concern
|
| A bouquet for your concern
|
| I’m paling in the sun
|
| I shake a hateful fist
|
| At every single orange strip mall fascist
|
| And their spray tanning baptists
|
| And it hurts so good
|
| But not as good as this
|
| Now I scold my tongue for these scalding words
|
| So please slap me on the wrist
|
| A bouquet for your concern
|
| A bouquet for your concern
|
| Apprehension locks my door
|
| I think I told you once before
|
| Someday I’ll look you in the eye
|
| And I’ll cry another lie
|
| Synthetic spring blooms on the walls
|
| And hushes tangled breath
|
| It never felt so good
|
| No clime can sway me now
|
| A bouquet for your concern
|
| A bouquet for your concern
|
| A bouquet for your concern
|
| A bouquet for your concern
|
| A bouquet for your concern
|
| A bouquet for your concern |