Coming Down

Make me reflective, make me introspective Make me the violence, and explain my silence 'Cause it's never too late to fill me with hate... So pull away, go, make me look cool And she looks best, Sunday mornings, coming down So what will I achieve, and who should I believe I lick her slit, as it tightens grip My drugged up kiss. So hey, have something else It's hard to conceal the way I feel And she looks best, Sunday mornings, coming down It seems that some wanker makes her darker Sights her hair