歌词
Now I hate eight days a week
Honestly it makes me sick
To think of you and her asleep my childhood song
Playing on repeat
And they would say your bird can sing
Go ahead and cut the wings
And from a cage you’re listening
My father’s name is a buried memory
So don’t mind me
If I’m throwing stones at your door
Don’t blame me for getting so hurt from something so small
No don’t take it personal
‘Cuz it’s personal
You stole Lucy‘s diamond rings
Thought you said that you played clean
And honestly I’ve heard some things that make me doubt all your reasoning
So don’t mind me
If I’m throwing stones at your door
Don’t blame me for getting so hurt from something so small
No don’t take it personal
‘Cuz it’s personal
No don’t take it personal
‘Cuz it’s personal
专辑信息