Hate Your Drug
Bob Stanley, Pete Wiggs
Like four paper-dolls / all heavy with sleep, /
They hold you like a baby, / your body so weak. /
They lay you on a white bed, / almost dead at nineteen, /
Like four paper dolls / all heavy with sleep. /
And with your blonde hair / all over my dress, /
Your heart had stopped beating, / your head on my chest, /
And I told you for the last time / that I loved you best. /
And with your blonde hair / all over my dress
