Yeah, it's dynamite, the way he takes his life and then you jump in with your qicked croquet heart

and then you fill your self with cancer as he burns at your feet

and then you spill your guys that sexy disemboweling chic

it's like a kiss/kiss on the forehead

and it's how you kiss them that just cracks my skin

through it's time to steal another kiss from your broad shoulders

it's time you lick my heart and burn my eyes with your hip acid filled caress

you keep the endings coming and I'll keep the vomit flowing

your mating calls are showing that the best thing in life aren't worth loving

what if I lined my lips with your poison then you'd better kiss me;

you'd better make me give in, make me your everything

come and get your kiss on the forehead

we'll blame it on the housing projects

what an index that could make for what your body is scarred from the bombs on the first floor

we'll blame it on the housing projects

then flaunt that lower class depression

just like you flaunt the fact that you can't feel for nothing



18 years trying to get it right



ballistic hematoma tries to suck the scars from the bombs