We are the disenchanted, tried and true, worn out dead romantics. Hey hey! Here come the trophy boys of the heartache noise (so make way). Brittle brides and grooms exchanging broken vows in black lit lovelorn gloom. Come save me from these nights alone and the deafening sound of silent telephones. And everything is just everything to me, so I’ll play my song, so you can hum along to the malady of a tragic tune a piano plays in an empty room. Cause you’re not here. And I always knew we’d end up like this. It’s either cut your losses or slit your wrists. So come hear the holy hymns of our sacred sins and just keep confessing to receive your blessings. We’ll keep saving our souls until we get bored. We’ll keep bleeding out love until there’s no more. Pray for me love.
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