Quarter past my hour of bloom,
Colours fading into you,
The holy face of movie screens,
Only happens in your dreams,
Painting pictures of our past,
Oh how we thought that it would last,
The only grace of what it seems,
Is fading out to all that gleams
With hilltop houses and dirty trousers
With real tight skirts and matching blouses
And fuck it all, I'll be skipping classes
Those cunning bastards with long tall glasses
And I'll take my shoes, and I'll write this off
And I'm turning away, and I'm turning goth
With my two step plan, I'll live on my own
With my black t-shirt and my old cologne
I'm leaving now, I'm gonna find myself,
I'm pulling out, I'm gonna find myself,
