You would make me paintings
And I would write you songs,
But everything has changed
And everything is gone.
Took your paintings off my wall because you wanted them back
But I still write songs because you're fucking with my best friend.
I wish things were different, oh oh oh.
You tried to give me that book made of moths
And I never told you, I never did,
That I fucking hate moths (fucking with my best friend.)
You would make me paintings and I would write you songs
But now you're with that asshole and I have to move on.
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