Lyrics
|
When
|
the
|
morning
|
came
|
we
|
were
|
cleaning
|
incense
|
off
|
your
|
vinyl
|
shelf
|
'cause
|
we
|
lost
|
track
|
of
|
time
|
again
|
Laughing
|
with
|
my
|
feet
|
in
|
your
|
lap,
|
like
|
you
|
were
|
my
|
closest
|
friend
|
How'd
|
we
|
end
|
up
|
on
|
the
|
floor
|
anyway?
|
You
|
say,
|
"Your
|
roommate's
|
cheap
|
ass
|
screw
|
top
|
Rosè,"
|
that's
|
how
|
I
|
see
|
you
|
every
|
day
|
now
|
And
|
I
|
chose
|
you
|
The
|
one
|
I
|
was
|
dancin'
|
with
|
in
|
New
|
York
|
No
|
|
Lyrics
|
shoes,
|
looked
|
up
|
at
|
the
|
sky
|
and
|
it
|
was—
|
The
|
burgundy
|
on
|
my
|
t-shirt
|
when
|
you
|
splashed
|
your
|
wine
|
onto
|
me
|
And
|
how
|
the
|
blood
|
rushed
|
into
|
my
|
cheeks,
|
so
|
scarlet,
|
it
|
was—
|
The
|
mark
|
you
|
saw
|
on
|
my
|
collarbone,
|
the
|
rust
|
that
|
grew
|
between
|
telephones
|
The
|
lips
|
I
|
used
|
to
|
call
|
home,
|
so
|
scarlet,
|
it
|
was
|
maroon
|
When
|
the
|
silence
|
came,
|
we
|
were
|
shaking
|
blind
|
and
|
hazy
|
How
|
the
|
|
Lyrics
|
hell
|
did
|
we
|
lose
|
sight
|
of
|
us
|
again?
|
Sobbin'
|
with
|
your
|
head
|
in
|
your
|
hands
|
Ain't
|
that
|
the
|
way
|
shit
|
always
|
ends?
|
You
|
were
|
standing
|
hollow
|
eyed
|
in
|
the
|
hallway
|
Carnations
|
you
|
had
|
thought
|
were
|
roses,
|
that's
|
us
|
I
|
feel
|
you
|
no
|
matter
|
what,
|
the
|
rubies
|
that
|
I
|
gave
|
up
|
When
|
I
|
lost
|
you
|
The
|
one
|
I
|
was
|
dancin'
|
with
|
in
|
New
|
York
|
No
|
shoes,
|
looked
|
up
|
at
|
the
|
sky
|
|
Lyrics
|
and
|
it
|
was
|
maroon
|
The
|
burgundy
|
on
|
my
|
t-shirt
|
when
|
you
|
splashed
|
your
|
wine
|
onto
|
me
|
And
|
how
|
the
|
blood
|
rushed
|
into
|
my
|
cheeks,
|
so
|
scarlet,
|
it
|
was—
|
The
|
mark
|
you
|
saw
|
on
|
my
|
collarbone,
|
the
|
rust
|
that
|
grew
|
between
|
telephones
|
The
|
lips
|
I
|
used
|
to
|
call
|
home,
|
so
|
scarlet,
|
it
|
was
|
maroon
|
And
|
I
|
wake
|
with
|
your
|
memory
|
over
|
me
|
That's
|
a
|
real
|
fucking
|
legacy
|
that
|
you
|
see
|
And
|
|
Lyrics
|
I
|
wake
|
with
|
your
|
memory
|
over
|
me
|
That's
|
a
|
real
|
fucking
|
legacy
|
to
|
leave
|
The
|
burgundy
|
on
|
my
|
t-shirt
|
when
|
you
|
splashed
|
your
|
wine
|
onto
|
me
|
And
|
how
|
the
|
blood
|
rushed
|
into
|
my
|
cheeks,
|
so
|
scarlet,
|
it
|
was
|
maroon
|
The
|
mark
|
you
|
saw
|
on
|
my
|
collarbone,
|
the
|
rust
|
that
|
grew
|
between
|
telephones
|
The
|
lips
|
I
|
used
|
to
|
call
|
home,
|
so
|
scarlet,
|
it
|
was
|
maroon
|
It
|
was
|
maroon
|
It
|
was
|
maroon
|
|