Slipping into fitted jeans and
stories from a magazine,
she dies to fit into a scene.
What got inside of you that night?
Razor's edge and lies of white.
She steps across another line...
Sunday night she lies beside me –
Lies beside me sweet.
She makes up a history
Lines lined white with crystaline.
Slipping from her favorite jeans,
summer plans and silver rings.
I can't believe in anything.
She makes up a history
Lines lined white with crystaline.
Sheets, lines and amphetamines instead of me, I guess.
Thursday night she crawls beside me,
lies into my ear...
She's made up this history.
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