Cherry Poppin' Cemetery

They're the same dirty people that sold me Rome
On high with eyes like busy stone
The same sort of people write behind the scenes
Write "what a little fucking pretty pill she cleans."
And then they stop.
I heard there were answers out west, at best
I got beat with little punches in my cancerous chest
My friends bought me a car, said to "sort this out."
Now I'm sitting in a tree with plasma and pressed

But I don't really know anyone
So I make out suspect
Now all I know is the road
Where the mess is made public

They were all just in love
With the passion of the part
Outsider wary of
Over-saturation from the heart
But that's cool cause people know what we don't.
So at least they can find me at the side of the road.