Smash your fists against a mirror (you look much better broken)
I could write a book with the silence (of the words still left unspoken)
You better leave off your makeup tonight
You’ll be crying a river by the dawn’s first light
Your blonde hair turns black, like the roses you pick
Oh pretty, pretty broken girl--damn you make me sick
Why do you think running away will ever change a thing
The scars still burn, the tears still fall, and those words will always sting
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