Incapable of Abstract Thought - The Taste Of Blood

You play the headstrings as if they were a harp

Don’t you tell me any different

So cut the drama

We’ll shed no tears for you

You are nothing in the grand scheme of things

Catch and release

But I want to take you down to where the greatest beasts get butterflies

I think you should go back to where you came from

You’re fucking things up

You’re not wanted here

You are losing your appeal just as fast as rumors fly