Striking Matches In The Dark

I'm a born busshitter and a waste of your goddamned time

I would have made it as a poet, but I couldn't keep between the lines

Take me to your little hideaway, touch me with your sequined grace

I'll kiss you just like we did before with the covers pulled close to your face

They'll bury us in a pool hall, among the drunks, the dicks, and the sharks

Cause you and I, we were only striking matches in the dark

You and I, we were only striking matches in the dark

It figures the same, you're just dancing with a different man

But honey watch the rain, cause he's bound to melt away in your hand

I want to spin outside your little white house like the moon does every night