It's a compulsion really out of my hands
To tell you all about you making all the wrong hands
But I grind my teeth, and I'll pick this scar
Anything to make it through a night at the bar
Leave me with flat teeth, with fresh wounds, another nervous tick
Please leave me on the kitchen floor, with my dignity while I get sick
Bleed me out like an open sore
Say its me that makes you a whore
Go ahead blame the moon and sun, then deny me
Because that's what makes this fun.
Your just a symptom
Your just a symptom
Your just, your just a symptom
Your just a symptom, your just
Your just a symptom
just a symptom
Bleed me out like an open sore
Say its me that makes you a whore
Go ahead blame the moon and sun, then deny me
Because that's what makes this fun