Now forgive me little one
I never quite learnt how
The emotional progression
Of a love song sounds
And all my inclinations
Go the wrong way around

On the 7th of December is when you found your feet
Turning pirouettes on the downtown street
And your bed is where the heavens and the whore house meet

And you look so good on paper
You've got that perfect skin
But you do yourself no favours
When you stretch yourself so thin
? Death it has it's boots on
When it finally does
It may come for them, but it will never come for us
No, it'll never come for us
Oh, it'll never come for us

And I believe I'm with you (?)
And put you in your place
With a cat (?) in every window
And a kick on every place?
And your self-romantic hipster bones go (?) no, no, no
And they turn left at the bedroom
And they wake up in their clothes
Well everyone's an item
We should quit our jobs
And when they say that 'you'll be sorry
We'll say 'say no more,'
You live your safe and happy life
Behind your comfy door, fuck off
But if we're going to make it to the hour of nine
We'll need a dozen cigarettes and a gallon of wine
A seat before the ocean with the mountains behind, fuck off

And you look so good on paper
You've got that perfect skin
But you do yourself no favours
When you stretch yourself so thin
Death it has it's boots on
(?) knows we can't be killed
Not by fire, not by loneliness, no throbbing pains of guilt
No throbbing pains of guilt
No, no throbbing pains of guilt

And I believe I'm with you (?)
And I will make you mine
With a duffel bag of money
Ad a bathtub full of wine
And your self-romantic hipster bones go (?) no, no, no
And they turn left at the bedroom
And they wake up in their clothes
Now, I believe I've been here (?)
If I could beat myself
(?) dusty rows of Kerouac (?)
Grow spiders on my shelf

And I've borrowed all the bibles
From everyone I know
And I wipe my boots, and I read and root
For that poor, defenseless joke
Yes, I wipe my boots, and I read and root
For that poor, defenseless joke