Incapable Of Abstract Thought

The Taste Of Blood

You play the headstrings as if they were a harp
Don’t you tell me any different
So cut the drama
We’ll shed no tears for you
You are nothing in the grand scheme of things
Catch and release
But I want to take you down to where the greatest beasts get butterflies
I think you should go back to where you came from
You’re fucking things up
You’re not wanted here
You are losing your appeal just as fast as rumors fly

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