he won't take you dancing, he's busy off flying G5.
in his daily daydreams, the macabre heights.
but you seem to pour the ungodly-like ground wet
with some salty tears to shed.
My my my, time's to pick fights.
i was just a school girl with two bows by each side.
Or maybe I wasn't.
Or maybe I was always the one skank who starts a fight.
But never been monstrous,
and still am not.
But my, oh my, it depends on the sight.
in his story, we appear as a forgotten satellites,
who make rounds around his station.
And I guess we really are the ones. We've been flipped out for months and x-failed our destination.
My my my, what a miscalculation.