Half Moon - Waxahatchee

Curious impulse drifting slow in a state

In the darkness, in music, our imperfect escape

You’re a good girl, a daughter of liars avenged

And you paint such a picture, the departed, unhinged

You make a splash

You’re adored by strangers through glass

We fuck up our rhythm, this idea is a curse

I invite myself in and I think I kissed you first

But this glimpse at the past, it is tattered and trite

Our love tastes like sugar but it pulls all the life out of me

Out of me

You cry to an old friend, to a hole in your heart

To a ghost in the fading strokes of your glorious art

And she lied when she said she would call you today

And you know I couldn’t blame her

The pain that you make never dies

I hung it up in a wistful disguise