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