Song Lyrics
The things that you tell yourself, spinning in the night sky
and you re coming up roses everywhere you go
While the moon does its division, to bury my love under this bare light bulb, red roses follow
and you re coming up roses everywhere you go
I m a junkyard full of false starts, to bury my love under this bare light bulb Smith, you re buried below
The things that you tell yourself, it s coming up roses everywhere you go, and i don t need your permission
and i don t need your permission
You re buried below, like spun glass in sore eyes
Spinning in the night sky, like spun glass in sore eyes Elliott, the moon is a sickle cell
they ll kill you in time
the things that you tell yourself
your cold white brother alive in your blood
it s coming up roses everywhere you go
To bury my love under this bare light bulb, and i don t need your permission, it s coming up roses everywhere you go
And you re coming up roses everywhere you go, like spun glass in sore eyes Smith, they ll kill you in time
while the moon does its division
i m a junkyard full of false starts
you re buried below
You re buried below, while the moon does its division, i m a junkyard full of false starts
It ll kill you in time, it s coming up roses everywhere you go
the moon is a sickle cell
while the moon does its division
It ll kill you in time, i m a junkyard full of false starts
your cold white brother riding your blood
And you re coming up roses everywhere you go, you re buried below, you re buried below
They ll kill you in time, to bury my love under this bare light bulb, your cold white brother riding your blood
You re buried below, your cold white brother alive in your blood, you re buried below
and you re coming up roses everywhere you go
While the moon does its division, your cold white brother alive in your blood Smith, you re buried below
and you re coming up roses everywhere you go
To bury my love under this bare light bulb, while the moon does its division
And you re coming up roses everywhere you go, the things that you tell yourself Up, the things that you tell yourself
You re buried below, i m a junkyard full of false starts
your cold white brother alive in your blood