You hate it when I touch your clothes
I didn't think you minded much
You spend a lot on looking good
More money than most people have got
I hope that every bit gets burned up in a fire and you learn
It never mattered to me, I like you whatever you wear
And in the eventuality that
The skies clear and you no longer cry at
A blot, a stain on your collar
There's still a chip on your shoulder
Pull it out, rip it up, look at me, leave the club
No matter where I stand I hear the same boring bands
No matter which day of the week
We all end up smoking weed
There's a particular way
We get the pleasure we need
You know it's all in my head
Something I never agreed
I'm not convinced you're really here
Or I've come out tonight with a ghost
I think your whites are crisper than the sheets I just washed
Your eyes are shot through with red and gold, it's a lovely effect
But I'm afraid that it means you're just incredibly wrecked
And in the eventuality that
Those eyes clear and you no longer stare at
The blot, the stain on your collar
I'll feel a decade older
Pull it out, rip it up, look at me, leave the club
No matter where I stand I hear the same boring bands
No matter which day of the week
We all end up smoking weed
There's a particular way
We get the pleasure we need
You know it's all in my head
Something I never agreed