Anthroapologist

The last thing
This town needs is
Another apothecary
Unless she's shapely
And willing to cut me off
She reads through me
And the lines on my furrowed brow
Our diatribes only run as deep as our pockets allow
I can do this on my own
I can fucking do this on my own
She's a winter fashionista
Who never could reach the top shelf
It felt so good to stumble
When I could fall back on you
She used to love to dress me down
But now I'm wrapped up in myself
Do you need to write this down
Or am I quoting verbatim?
Leave that poor girl alone
This is beyond your control
She's a winter fashionista
Who should've left me in the cold
You defined the both of us
While I misidentified what's left of us
Isn't wandering a means of taking steps?
Or am I just dull and directionless?



Credits
Writer(s): Duane Barry
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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