I wonder why you're avoiding or realising
I'm on the edge of a spectrum
I don't know what else it would take.
I cut out this distress, perfect for a bite
And let you taste me like a forgein plate.
Plastic, plastic, plastic
Stone, stone, wasted in the light.
Drew perfect pictures of sunflowers
Arching their heads the sun.
Perfect boy, perfect blue
Baking in the sun like a
Pile of stolen bills.
Is this perfect moment stuck in the sheets?
Is it still fresh tasting and full of foam?
The stench of youth smoked away
The stench of youth smoked away
The stench of youth smoked away
The stench of youth smoked away
Plastic, plastic, plastic
Stone, stone, wasted in the light.