Bright eyes, such bright eyes.
And, your frown- it's a mere disguise.
Your pit stains, they show the truth-
You don't know what to do.
Those broken lips are twitching,
We can all see how his mind is itching.
[Oh, and I'm burning a hole in your pocket,
Burning a hole in your pocket.
Like cigarette breath that stays with you,
Screwing up your grand debut.
I'm burning a hole in your pocket.]
Your eyes, they're everywhere!
I guess grandpa never taught you how to play solitaire
This room is a mess,
A metaphor for a sad lack of success.
[Oh, and I'm burning a hole in your pocket,
Burning a hole in your pocket.
Like cigarette breath that stays with you,
Screwing up your grand debut.
I'm burning a hole in your pocket.]
But now there's him, sitting in my room.
He's tilting his head, smelling vanilla perfume.
He's inches away, and I can hardly hear him say,
"It's time you just got away. Forget about this, learn to disobey."
[Oh, and I'm burning a hole in your pocket,
Burning a hole in your pocket.
Like cigarette breath that stays with you,
Screwing up your grand debut.
I'm burning a hole in your pocket.]
And his open hand is so tempting, teaching me to forget.
And the words are so reassuring: "There's nothing to regret."
I'm sorry, I've burnt a hole in your pocket.
*This was the first song I've written, sorry if the flow is sort of off.
