Direct Hit!
Direct Hit! - Through The Windshield Holding Hands songtekst
Je score:
His girlfriend's at wit's end, but they want to try again He's tried to ask how do they make some breakup mutual It's not like they could write a note then climb on a bike, Ride into the wide blue and forget what they've been through She's a bitch and he's a dick She makes him sick, he makes her frantic So faking like they'll ride into the sunset's not romantic So what should they do? Could they just shut up? They've withstood barbs, lances, sharp glances Still go to shrinks, not dances It's not my fault that I think suicide's a far cry from useless Confucius would say "fuck this," chalk deuces She thinks their relationship could use an injection of commitment So how 'bout brains on pavement? Permanent's an understatement So how do I go through this shit? No, I'm not used to fights, bashes, wounds, gashes Heartbreak, attacks, rematches Not to say I'm OK I've shown my share of contained enragement Adjacent to their tear-filled complacence I think they should take some time to be apart, reflect, rewind But that's no option when they both say that they're fine Fuck this, I'm not taking it This song's devoted to commitment We're sick of all the whining, no one cares, no one can stand it An automatic rifle in their mouth's the best prescription We're all so glad we've come to such an eloquent decision So thank you, your undue attention's helped me see who I care for: Myself more than them Just try to ignore my portents Important life lessons aren't absorbent, like towels or bowels I'm too drunk to form vowels