My right-side brain's growing fowers,
my lungs are sprouting roots.
My heart's a dripping beehive,
its sweetness all for you.
So wrap it all up in paper,
send a burnt offering to the sky.
Pack it up in mason jars,
preserve it with the vinegar of your lies.
My body is a garden with a locked gate,
clouds shifting from love to hate.
Rewind the tapes, watch my life back,
hindsight's always 20/20.
My favourite colour wasn't always black,
and I smiled in a golden light.
Flower crowns and swimming pools,
how I miss suburbia.
Wasn't always fucking with the cool kids,
but I grew up.
Now all I'm worried about is if I'm your type.
My eyelashes are vines that grow together.