You let me cry. I opened my fist.
Canít lash out when Iím not being hit.
I know that Iím a bad man now.
You tell me often enough.
I tell myself that.
When I cried I could open my wrist
But now Iím bandaged I canít mess you up.
You know youíve got a pretty face,
I tell you often enough.
I tell myself that
I can still be your best mate,
And not punch those whoíd beat my head in,
Read new stories in old bruises,
Not be sorry after. Donít be
Sorry for the broken plates,
Donít take my cold, recycled temper.
You could be a one-night sponge and
Not be sorry after. Donít be.
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