Artist: The Matches
Album: E. Von Dahl Killed The Locals
Song: Track 11 (Scratched Out)

Wake up and waste a day
Chase away
A day at a time and waste away
Clean faced today
Clean taste today
Toothpaste makes my orange juice sour
Waste an hour
Or so
My shower is slow
The flowers that grow
Outside of my window
Are blooming I'm assuming that you're coming over soon
It's almost half past four and you called here at noon
Cause there's a picture that you wanna see
But I'm not even good at being me anymore
MmmMmmMmmMmmMmmMmmMmmMmmMmmMmm
She got nicotine basted lungs
Wasted thumbs and one of them asphalt tastin tongues
She wakes up to alarm
Her make-up is still on
And she can't remember why she sent the damn thing
Her heart is a machine!
Art is meant to be seen
Not felt
Not heard
It's just pain
They're just words
Fingers are for feeling
Fists are for beating
Scabs are for healing and
Blood is for bleeding
That's just how it used to be
But I'm not even good at being me anymore
MmmMmmMmmMmmMmmMmmMmmMmmMmmMmm
Woah, oh, oh, woah
Yeah
Woah, oh, oh, woah
Yeah
Sha na na na
Woah, oh, oh, woah
Yeah
Sha na na na
Woah, oh, oh, woah
Yeah
I wake up and waste an hour
Pace and glower
At the TV set wasting power
Aching in my head
I'm banking in the red
And compulsively charging CD's to my account
So come out Virgina
Don't make me wait
You catholic girls start much too late
Now it's too late in the day
For a matinee
And I ain't got the money to pay for you anyway
What should I say?
I know it ain't how it used to be
But I'm not good at being me anymore
MmmMmmMmmMmmMmmMmmMmmMmmMmmMmm
MmmMmmMmmMmmMmmMmmMmmMmmMmmMmm