F.U.

It is seven
And you put on your make-up
It is eight
And he’s waiting 'cos you’re late
Quarter past
And you wash the places
I’ll never know again
Quarter past
And you wash for some stranger’s hands
And I am dying
Sixty seconds every minute
On my fingers
I still taste it
But, these hands are lonely
Yes, these hands are wasted
I die alone and in slo-mo
Because I got what I wanted
Gone forever to a safer place than
I’ll ever be, with better luck and bluer
Eyes than me, to some place with
Better luck and handsome hands
So forever is gone
And forever was wrong
And so forever was too long
Too Long
And in the morning when I wake up
I say a little prayer
And in the evening when I wake up
I’ll say a little prayer
For you…
For you…