Flattered that you think I warrant ugliness. 

 Gutters drain west, mud made a mess of us. 

 It's time to leave this place. 

 I'd saw through your wrist to find a better trap that fits. 

 I'd saw through your traps to find a better you. 

 A part of you that lasts. 

 I saw through your trap and into my own wrists. 

 Saw we were through, red ribbons spill to blue: 

 A sight to sore your eyes. 

 I got this dress. 

 I'm hiking it around this waste of laughter. 

 Slow dance alone with no one to the sound of four hands clapping. 

 Congratulations to you both, I hope you're somewhere happy. 

 If there's a moral to this story then I wish you'd show me. 

 Hair in the blood, fly in the disappointment. 

 Rubber, I'm glue. 

 I'll write the book on you. 

 It's sticking to my face. 

 You need a little less than what you take for granted. 

 This is the sip that's drinking back from you, 

 Blacking out your eyes. 

 You need a little more suppression of you appetites. 

 This is your honeymoon, in separate rooms, 

 It's neither sweet nor bright. 

 I made a word to give this state a name, this game a guess. 

 I call it "sluttering." 

 It means as little as your little test. 

 You are your worst revenge. 

 Your very means, they have no ends. 

 This is a story you won't tell the kids we'll never have. 

 If you hear this song a hundred times it still won't be enough.