Post-Punk, Post-Love

Some of my friends
They don’t understand
Why you got nobody
Holding your hand
I’d never set you up
You take your time, that’s fine
Except the graveyard shift
You got a life divine
You say paramours
Are a waste of expensive lingerie
But to all of them
You’re the one who got away
Post-Punk, Post-Love
That’s an efficient turn of phrase
To codify your raison d’etre
Post-Punk, Post-Love
Making nights of all your days
You’re Hecate hyphenate
You keep pulling those cards
Hoping they’ll come up hearts
But the spread says death
Comes before the lovers
So don’t turn over the others
With the sound compressed
No more whiplash stress
All the highs and lows
Are just so overrated
Now you’re desaturated
You say paramours
Are a waste of expensive lingerie
But to all of them
You’re the one who got away
Post-Punk, Post-Love
That’s an efficient turn of phrase
To codify your raison d’etre
Post-Punk, Post-Love
Making nights of all your days
You’re Hecate hyphenate
You may lay your body down
But you won’t lay your heart out on the line
Some of my friends
They still hang around
I guess they’re hopin you’ll check
The lost and found
Post-Punk, Post-Love
That’s an efficient turn of phrase
To codify your raison d’etre
Post-Punk, Post-Love
Making nights of all your days
You’re Hecate hyphenate
You may lay your body down
But you won’t lay your heart out on the line
Every time
Putting on the bravest face
But you don’t have the courage to decide
And I know why