| Turn around, there’s those eyes again
|
| Turn around, fake indifference and I
|
| Watch the cold, dark silhouettes disappear
|
| A hundred bodies fill this room
|
| And all their faces overdone
|
| Pain is foreign, foreign to us
|
| I don’t even know you
|
| You won’t even know I’m gone
|
| Was it something I did wrong?
|
| Roses, roses cold
|
| Roses, roses sold out
|
| Turn around, reds and whites again
|
| I’d sell my kicks for one more low tar
|
| Fevers hand-in-hand with shoelace bracelets
|
| Why are some girls so naive?
|
| He didn’t unbutton your blouse to see
|
| A better view of your heart, oh yeah, can’t blame you for trying
|
| I don’t even know you
|
| You won’t even know I’m gone
|
| Was it something I did wrong?
|
| Roses, roses cold
|
| Roses, roses sold out
|
| Roses, roses cold
|
| Roses, roses sold out
|
| Sing it soft
|
| Make it slow
|
| Apples parachute the boys back down
|
| Fill it up
|
| Overflow
|
| A new improved modern way to feel
|
| I don’t even know you
|
| You won’t even know I’m gone
|
| I don’t even know you
|
| You won’t even know I’m gone
|
| Was it something I did wrong?
|
| Was it something I did wrong?
|
| Was it something I did wrong? |