Anne Louise

This leathers called a seat belt Anne Louise Your head out of the window in the coolest summer breeze And in the air were all the things you claimed we need They seemed to be worth less than once I did believe And I swear to god that I'll avenge your dead With the best lawyers of auto-politics And I'll spend whatever money's to be spend To try and revive your broken body again And the penny-pitching funeral was shit Your body in a plastic frame that I threw flowers in And I hope to god that you'll remember me in heaven God I hope you don't remember that in heaven God I hope that they'll allow me into heaven Look what I've become Look what I've become