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lyrics
You’ve got it put into writing
What to do with your body
You said it’s your last experiment
You’ll say that you want them back
All the days that you lived too fast
But they could never offer enough to buy you
The things that you were never willing to sell
Why does it feel like I’m dying?
Or enclosed in a room?
I try to think what could or couldn’t have been true —
You think you’re supernatural, and I might too
Yeah, I might too
I know I’m too late for your birthday
But I painted you a portrait of Frieda Kahlo
My apologies for fucking it up
You say all your plans are made, and you know everything you’re gonna do with all the things in your life that you are going through.
And all you’re thinkin’ is that you want it back.
(It’s) bizarre how we all think of life
and then mortality transpires through.
“Well am I dyin’ right now?”
“…cause we’re all going to.”
And all I hope is that,
I’m not just fuckin’ it up.
“Yeah…am I fuckin’ it up?”
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