| Kissing in the acid rain
|
| Heaven on her tongue again
|
| The cutest couple in the halls of Hell, well
|
| She was smoking with her friends
|
| Exhale nicotine and breathe me in
|
| Black denim under pale moonlight
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| Her skin is milk, so pale and white
|
| Underneath the teenage spell, well
|
| She’s Christina Applegate
|
| Hopelessly beautiful in 1988
|
| She’s my cyanide
|
| I drink her every night
|
| And modern love can feel like suicide
|
| She’s my cyanide
|
| I drink her every night
|
| And modern love can feel like suicide
|
| Holy water for the lady, please
|
| Love is best upon our knees
|
| With grass stains upon our jeans, now
|
| The devil dreams of me and you
|
| Of all the nasty things we do, oh baby
|
| Black lipstick on her coffee cup
|
| Love is envious of lust
|
| She’s cold but still I burn, ah
|
| In a gin and tonic trance
|
| We know sobriety won’t teach the kids to dance
|
| She’s my cyanide
|
| I drink her every night
|
| And modern love can feel like suicide
|
| She’s my cyanide
|
| I drink her every night
|
| And modern love can feel like suicide
|
| So we drive until the road (Runs out)
|
| Or at least until our tears
|
| We count our sins beneath the sun
|
| We know no one forgives the Fugitives of Heaven
|
| And modern love can feel like suicide
|
| She’s my cyanide
|
| I drink her every night
|
| And modern love can feel like suicide
|
| She’s my cyanide
|
| I drink her every night
|
| And modern love can feel like suicide |