Make up won't make up for it. It won't make up for it, no. And the chorus went something like this boom bip and another heart felt la la la. I'm falling in love with the idea of writing a cliché in reverse. Lonely only comes at night when you've forgotten your keys and everyone sleeps on their side. Fake plastic mammals granted, we're all the same but with each one faster than the last. My songs sound better played in double time but noone understands why.