| You’re no good for me
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| My formulated drug an acquired taste
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| awaits to sate this unrequited love
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| It tastes so gray, yet necessary to sustain frustration
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| Take just enough to get you fucked up
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| Not so much that it drives you away
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| A constant escape
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| The magnificent restraint that it takes to stay away
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| I’ve no control at all
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| I constantly dream
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| The memories invade the things I keep with me
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| I’m getting high on the roof of the world
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| You’re no good for me
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| (You're no good for me) You are the bent and blackened spoon.
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| You are the butane. |
| You are the bedroom.
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| (You're no good for me) You are the improbable excuse
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| for the horrible things that I do.
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| You’re no good for me, but I guess not bad enough.
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| And on quiet nights I come to find you crawling through my kick drum
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| Hell bent on deliverance of all the privileges
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| of being with you, Heaven sent I crane my neck
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| To watch you desperately march down my chest, enjoying every step.
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| Emphasized by distances we never intended.
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| You come crawling back through my regrets to remind me what you said…
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| «We're no good at this.» |