a compass can point to whatever you want
These are the cheap tricks you like so well.
The twist, the hook, the bass line.
I seek you out always, always.
The flash of your teeth in the dark.
The curl of your lip, it’s alright.
You turned away and I don’t blame you, don’t point any fingers, don’t sharpen the tips.
You will always find me laughing.
Sick fucked up love is the thing
I know, I know.
Your finger on the dial and the hard glass bottom of a broken bottle
or it broke on you, anyway.
You still have the scar.
My connective tissue is made up of you
and you find me.