Talking to my walls about
Things I regret
Things I regret, like
Why'd I let you fuck me
When the love was pretend
Our love was pretend
Your fingertips will stick to me
For seven years
But seven years is too long
By then I know you won't be what I want
So for now I'll scrub my skin
Till your touch is gone
Post-traumatic or dramatic
The latter's what you say I am
It took practice just to have it with you
'Cuz I still felt his hands
I didn't expect you to understand
Now I'll never trust a man
I even told him in advance
All the cards were in his hands
Why'd I give him a second chance
Shoulda grabbed my clothes and ran
Smoking weed from a cola can
Might calm the nerves for a night
But I'm still
Talking to my walls about
Things I regret
Things I regret, like
Why'd I let you fuck me
You were only a friend
No more than a friend
Your fingertips are stuck to me
For seven years
Six more and I'll be clean
By then I know you won't be what I want
So for now I'll scrub my skin
Till your touch is gone
Till your touch is gone
Till your touch is gone
For now I'll scrub my skin
Till your touch is gone
Till your touch is gone
Till your touch is gone
For now, I'll scrub my skin till your touch is gone
