4.Stop, Just Stop
Stop, Just Stop
You read big books. ／ I feel so small. ／ Why aren't you small, ／
my love？ ／ You've got big hooks. ／ They make me hurt. ／ Why
don't mine hurt, ／ my love？ ／／ You are my automatic writing, ／
the red tattoos behind my eyelids, ／ but I'm tired of firing
squads, ／ of your bored, indifferent gods. ／／ So when you feel
brave, ／ I'll be your stutter, ／ and when you wake, ／ I'll be
your hangover, ／ and when you try to get straight, ／ I'll be
your drug dealer. ／ So when you get paid, ／ I'll gladly sell you
／／ the wrong words, ／ the whiskey cures, ／ the last real hurt, ／
the one that craves ／ the wrong words, ／ the whiskey cures, ／
the last real hurt, ／ the one you hate. ／／ My god, it's gonna
hurt ／ oh my god, it's gonna hurt ／ when I'm your modern
American fuck, ／ the modern American love that fucks you up, ／
the one you can't love enough. ／／ I'll have you screaming, ／
Stop, stop, I'm gonna be sick. ／ Just stop, just stop, I'm
gonna be sick. ／ Just stop, just stop, I'm gonna be sick. ／ Just
stop, just stop. Well, I give up. ／／ While you're sleeping off
／ our nighttime madness, ／ I'll be your slow dance, ／ your
dime-store romance. ／ In the morning bed, ／ I'll start again. ／
When you say when, ／ I'll fuck you up and fill your head ／／ with
the wrong words, ／ the whiskey cures, ／ the last real hurt, ／
the one that craves ／ the wrong words, ／ the whiskey cures, ／
the last real hurt. ／／ Oh, if I keep loving you, ／ we'll both be
ruled ／ by cosmic fears. ／ If this is loving you, ／ yeah, if
it's this cruel, ／ the worst of it is here. ／ Yeah, my best
hooks are here. ／ The worst of it is here. ／ Yeah, my best hooks
are here. ／ Oh, I hope they hurt.
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