I got a twenty-dollar bill that says no one’s ever seen you without makeup.
You’re always made up.
And I’m sick of your tattoos,
and the way you always criticize the Smiths… and Morrissey.
And I know that you’re a sucker for anything acoustic.
But when I say let’s keep in touch,
I really mean I wish that you’d grow up.
This is the first song for your mixtape.
It’s short just like your temper,
but somewhat golden like the afternoons we used to spend before you got too cool…
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