(Words and Music by: Z. Walters) Preachy bout a falsehood trade counting fingers, bout the lot you made nonchalant don't care look plastic smile laughin to the bank with shag hairstyle catch myself looking around stuck in the shallow end and it's makin me drown lick your finger, and hold it to the sky grab your sail man and raise it real high, cause eh, who you think you're foolin' eh, who you think you're foolin' use it abuse it everytime I swear you bruise it generically rich with your music and tears fall when you lose it turning you on is like a bite from a shark bet you'd go pop cause your hollow no heart rooftop, we're looking down watching your red flowers turn brown hit mix, it's your profession don't confuse passion with obses