| Dried out, bleached skin, rubber ducks in the bath, it’s not happening
|
| Little marks on the back of my arm, two weeks on, I hope they won’t scar
|
| Little marks on my shriveled arms, it’s not happening, it’s not happening
|
| Painted face, booked date, need new skin, skin can’t change
|
| Little bits of skin, exposed and gray
|
| I Can’t stop this from sinking in
|
| That was the day, that was the day
|
| Wrapped inside of you
|
| Little bits of smells that cease to know
|
| And are you still sneering now?
|
| That was the day, that was the day
|
| Wrapped in shoes with you
|
| Dyed red and tucked in, I’m the toast of all your friends
|
| It’s not happening
|
| Friends that dance on my shriveled arms, take your time
|
| And hope we don’t last
|
| Expecting to exchange your girl for a day
|
| It’s not happening, it’s not happening
|
| Bright lips, pink face
|
| Need new skin or things can’t change
|
| Little bits of skin, exposed and gray
|
| I Can’t stop this from sinking in
|
| That was the day, that was the day
|
| Wrapped inside of you
|
| Little bits of smells that cease to know
|
| And are you still sneering now?
|
| That was the day, that was the day
|
| Wrapped in shoes with you
|
| Little bits of skin, exposed and gray
|
| I Can’t stop this from sinking in
|
| That was the day, that was the day
|
| Wrapped inside of you
|
| Little bits of smells that cease to know
|
| And are you still sneering now?
|
| That was the day, that was the day
|
| Wrapped in shoes with you |