Hope You're Rotting

Harlequin Jones

In some kind of night terror
There was this ghost
And we shared our deaths while sleepwalking through life
But as casualties rose, he found in me a scapegoat
He found his lack of passion as a fault of mine

And i hope the roses on his grave are rotting away
And if i take so much as a petal out on you, i'm sorry

But he's not worth mentioning cuz he means nothing to me now
Good as dead in a body bag, either hanged or shot or drowned
But before his grave he made it clear: my hands dug his hole
Then he slithered six feet under into that new home

And i hope the roses on his grave are rotting away
And if i take so much as a petal out on you, i'm sorry

And i hope the roses on his grave are rotting away
And if i take so much as a petal out on you, i'm sorry


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