Like a fashion-forward dream
She wouldn't dress for halloween
Shades of pink and something cruel
90 degrees never felt so cool
She said, "That's me
I'm shoes made of concrete
And if you cared to look down
You would see"
Baby's gone insane
I'm sweating through the back of a torn up t-shirt
She's layered in brand names
So how could i love her?
She's dressing for the season
But it's indian summer
We stayed out late and spoke the king's
Shopped for plots and promise rings
On her back in skinny jeans
Like a f*cking horror scene
She said, "That's me
A di moda figurine
I'm every warning you were told to heed"
Baby's lost her mind
I'm roasting outside in a torn up t-shirt
She's bundled up to the nines
So how could i love her?
She's dressing for the season
But it's indian summer
Pull the shades up
Let light expose
And shed away your winter clothes
Plain white bed sheets
And paler skin
I'm at the mercy of your sins
She said, "That's me
I'm a mid-rack magazine
I'm a diesel motor full of gasoline"