The Taste Of Blood - Incapable Of Abstract Thought

You play the headstrings as if they were a harp
Don’t you tell me any different
So cut the drama
We’ll shed no tears for you
You are nothing in the grand scheme of things
Catch and release
But I want to take you down to where the greatest beasts get butterflies
I think you should go back to where you came from
You’re fucking things up
You’re not wanted here
You are losing your appeal just as fast as rumors fly