Burn
The Menzingers, Tom May
Here's to you, the same chords that I stole
From a song that I once heard
The same melody I borrowed from the void
I'd rather observe than structure a narrative
The characters are thin
The plot does not develop
It ends where it begins
The screen, in paperbacks
In section 8 and cul-de-sacs
Electro haikus and drunk sonnets
Are moving me along
Along
(Coughing)
What I'd give to force your sigh
What I'd give to see you cry
What I'd give for your caress
To see your blue cotton dress
Balled up on the floor
Certain memories are the problem
Certain drunken lines are the shame
Seven hundred miles and two years
I can't fight the burn
