Fucking With My Head
Having regrets is not a fun thing. I hate the ones that linger on your mind, forever and ever.
There are only three seasons, since I forgot the fourth. It got lost somewhere among my brain cells, all splattered across the floor. In a hypothetical context.
Too many people think they're watching us. I ask, why bother? They know what you're doing anyways. They KNOW what you're thinking. (Twisted, twisted thoughts, obviously. See, they told me. I know what you're thinking now) And everyone knows what you've done.
And who said they'd ever let you forget? The sad man in the corner, I should think.
He forgets everything and remembers nothing. Which is technically two different things.
I think.
There are only three seasons, since I forgot the fourth. It got lost somewhere among my brain cells, all splattered across the floor. In a hypothetical context.
Too many people think they're watching us. I ask, why bother? They know what you're doing anyways. They KNOW what you're thinking. (Twisted, twisted thoughts, obviously. See, they told me. I know what you're thinking now) And everyone knows what you've done.
And who said they'd ever let you forget? The sad man in the corner, I should think.
He forgets everything and remembers nothing. Which is technically two different things.
I think.