red paint

Original

I hear the doorbell ringing.

I don't open up 'cause I am clinging onto something that keeps me singing the same damn old song. Mm.

Cold and bitter has been my room for ages. Candlelight dinner, not for romanticism.

I just forgot to put the heating on.

Mm.

Does it all matter? Does it all matter now?

Doesn't it all, doesn't it all go down in about two weeks?

You might figure out what it all means.

I see red flags everywhere, oh, but I always stand there with a brush, red paint, and filthy hair.

Peace is a hard thing to share.

So I better get going. This keeps getting way too real. My cover is blown. It is soft.

It's supposed to be made of steel.

And I really like you, but I don't know how to cope with what I feel, with what I feel. Oh, oh. Does it all matter? Does it all matter now?

Doesn't it all, doesn't it all go down in about two weeks?

You might figure out what it all means.

I see red flags everywhere, oh, but I always stand there with a brush, red paint, and filthy hair.

Peace is a hard thing to share.

I let it happen every time, working my ass off doing overtime, giving too much energy and wasting mine.

Well, anyway, in the end, doesn't it all go down?

I see red flags everywhere, oh, but I always stand there with a brush, red paint, and filthy hair.

Peace is a hard thing to share.

I see red flags everywhere, oh, but I always stand there with a brush, red paint, and filthy hair.

Peace is a hard thing to share.