You're what happens when models marry,
You're the kind of angel they produce.
Pale creature more sad than savage,
Heaven knows you're fireproof.
In an apartment with a dirty mirror,
You can still kiss you face goodbye. I want you,
I need you,
I want your skin upon my skin.
I want to,
Possess you,
I want to know where the hell you've been.
You're what happens when models marry,
You're the sort of victim they let loose.
Sitting on your own it's tragic,
That no one knows the awful truth.
Your scheming little junkie friends all tell you,
That sort of beauty is a crime. I want you,
I need you,
I want you confused and unable to stop.
I want to,
Possess you,
I want to know what the hell you want. I want you,
I need you,
I want your happiness and scars.
I want to,
Oppress you,
I want to know who the hell you think you are.

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