+ new component
I'm sick of the narratives; I'm done with apologies; I'm sick of conspiracies.
Bruises on my hands from digging my nails out
I wish that someone would hold me.
I could have seen for miles and miles
The more you own, the more you are lonelier with cheap desire.
It's what you felt, it's what you said
I've got problems, I've got too many of them
We don't talk about love, we only want to get drunk
It was no surface but all feeling. Maybe at the time it felt like dreaming
All your rebellion, corporation-owned. You need your stars; even killers have prestige.