There’s a record playing down my hall,
a new gothic blues that almost was,
but I can’t hear all the chords.
Now the record’s playing a perfect song,
and what we would have done for just one,
so I pick up my guitar.
I won’t crawl out ever again.
I won’t wait for it to begin,
or cry for something that might have been.
The record ends.
It’s so dead and used up it won’t mend.
So I won’t try anymore.
We won’t sway ever again,
we won’t let you fuck with our heads,
or fight for something to never end.
It’s not anger I’m feeling
so please don’t misunderstand me
when I say I don’t miss you no more.
GUESTLIST, Dead Heart Bloom, GUESTLIST, GUESTLIST