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Can I lift my dress up for you?
Can I lift it in the nighttime?
White undersides of my thighs look much better
In the dying light

There’s a kid in there
And he’s big, and dumb,
And he’s… kinda scared
Well, he’s too old to be there

And he’s just looking for a ride.

Well, I’ll lift it to the ceiling tiles
Of stadiums and shrines

You see something to cheer about

I’ll tell you that it’s mine
I’m sorry that your mother died
That one was my fault
I’m sorry anybody dies at all these days

I still find reasons to pout.

Oh…
Oh, your thighs
With my eyes.

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