You call yourself a whore, you're gone and miserable
You pass your fingers like you're dealing cards
There's nothing wrong with that
You feel the burn
It's wearing out
The smoky candle starts to smell
Your lungs are fried
Your eyes are shut
Your limbs are idle on the floor

Take it slow, don't go too fast
Your body might get premature
I've seen faces come and go
But none as jagged as your cheeks
Call me up and sing to me
Make me feel just good and wanted
Like I'm wrapped inside your blanket