F.u.

It is seven
And you put on your make-up
It is eight
And he's waiting 'cos you're late
Quarter past
And you wash the places
I'll never know again
Quarter past
And you wash for a stranger's hands

And i am dying
Sixty seconds every minute
On my fingers
I still taste it
Yes, these hands are lonely
These hands are wasted
I die alone and in slo-mo
Because i got what i wanted

Gone forever to a safer place than i'll
Ever be, with better luck and bluer
Eyes than me, to some place with
Better luck and handsome hands
So forever is gone
Forever was wrong
Forever was too long

And in the morning when i wake up
I say a little prayer
And in the evening when i wake up
I'll say a little prayer
For you...