New tongues for grass and a half a year's past for brats who sing.
New songs for friends who dirty their pants with mud in my hands.
Of course you want me,
Of course you want me,
Of course you want me to feel the way you do.
I was born to die my friends,
and we are the closest to the end,
of our lives and your cryptic face is filling me with pain.
Ooh I hate you,
Ooh I hate you,
My life's alright without you.
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