So, Mrs. Hanging On Hooks,
A midnight drive to clear the coldest calm?
Unhinged of the witchcraft that's hanging on your arm
Doesn't match with the beat of my drum
I drank a flood, a river of blood
The walkway, a swamp
I'd never ask for your help
No, I'll never ask for your help, as a rule.
I took a walk
Absence; went away
Eye took an "I"
In exchange for your mouth and the things that you say
To my heart
(Your troubles can remain your own, for now)
You don't walk to the beat of my drum
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