We hollow out our guts and place our urns inside
We encourage eating disorders, we encourage eating disorders
You’ve got the key to my front door it’s buried beneath my wrist

Every night is a fashion show, without clothes, without our clothes
An invitation to an after party of broken glass

We hollow out our guts and place our urns inside
We encourage eating disorders, we encourage eating disorders
I'm a disaster, your bodies an artwork, I want to make a mess of it
we're gona make a mess of it

Your goodnights are late hangovers, an abortion of suicide notes
You’ve got the key to my front door, it’s buried beneath my wrists

Inside it’s all accents and lies and the changing color of your eyes
Landscapes. Landscapes, welcome home, welcome home. Couldn’t see you behind the notes, over the type writer keys behind my eyes. We’ve locked up the closet doors to get high on the urchins that feed from our bloody nose, but if you’re not feeling well you can sleep in my clothes, but stay. Stay. I’ve spent too many mornings alone, studying the blood that blooms roses on our pillowcase.
My mattress is a dead letter office, it says

If I’m a scarecrow, then you’re a scarecrow
I’ll follow behind, picking up the pieces that fall
From your body.