I picked you out
Of a crowd and talked to you.
Now it's two o'clock.
The club is closed,
We are up the block.
Your hands are on me,
Pressing hard against your jeans,
Your tongue in my mouth,
Trying to keep the words from coming out,
You didn't care to know
Who else may have been you before.
I want a lover I don't have to love,
Bad actors, with bad habits...
Some sad singers, they just play tragic.
And the phone is ringing,
And the van is leaving
Let's just keep touching,
Let's just keep...keep singing
I want a lover I don't have to love,
I want a boy who's so drunk he doesn't talk.
But you, but you...
You write such pretty words,
But life's no storybook.
Love's an excuse to get hurt.
And to hurt.
Do you like to hurt?
I do, I do.
Then hurt me,
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