Tunnel vision, sweeping floors, All packed up, gold fringe decor
Spectator bridges, you've gotta let her know, of the secrets you can hold
Let her know before the door is closed, Another opens down the road
Twelve years, doesn't mean much at all, For you
And twelve tears, doesn't mean much at all, Unless they're yours
Stuck on all the pictures, bleeding by the window, Sipping on a liquor, berry pitcher
I'll forget about all you've done for now
F*cking with your collars list aware of every consequence, So arrogant, tracing your lips with colour, and lies for now