Under a red sky, I told her, "I want to die."
And how I cry with no concrete reason why
and have bad dreams every night, or every other night.
I feel sickly, like I am lost at sea.
And all the girls I used to know are high on ecstasy,
and they're much happier than me, I think.
She told me things would pa*s,
like the girls who smoke the gra*s,
like huffing gas out in the dried-up meadow gra*s,
uer stars that shine like gla*s in the sun.
And she said, "Would you shoot me in the head?"
We shot the breeze and had malt liquor instead.
Pa*sed out together in the shed or the bed - I don't recall.
I said: "What better way to put myself in my place?
What better way to get out of this goddamn place?
Sometimes I feel like I'm stuck in this f**king place.
What better way to put myself in my place?"
She said: "Broken hearts are easy to hide.
Broken hearts are easy to ignore.
see, when you break your heart, nothing really breaks.
Look at me, and look at you:
18, and dead - at 16 you were almost dead.
Just sleep with me in my bed,
and don't say those things you said."