This is a letter I've been meaning to write for awhile.
To You,
Can you explain something to me? How is it that he's been back in town for almost a week now and you've slept with me for 5 out of 6 of the nights?
When you were arrested, who did you call first to come pick you up? Who drove you to get your car from the towing company? Who talked you down until 9 in the morning?
If you didn't look so good in my Rooney jersey when you aren't wearing any pants I'd probably not have let you stay and although I may have played the "point to the couch and tell you to get the fuck out" story line in my head I cannot follow through for the life of me
Sometimes, I wish I was a cold beer.
You are considerably hindering my ability to get some whilst augmenting it at the same time.
This song, while its meaning likely different from my interpretation, seems to lay out the one consistent dilemma that I find myself in, and which usually gets me in trouble in the end.
I do feel as though it's a bit narcissistic to try and describe you're own life...
Remember when I really hated Emo-core in high school? If you do then you probably thought I was obnoxious (I'm sure that was the only reason). I've gotten pretty good about not hating things just to hate, but there is still something about this band that I just cannot tolerate. I don't know if its the whole get-up (i.e. the make up and clothes whatever). I just find it obnoxious. It's like Lady Gaga for me, I feel as though she'd be a great musician on her own without the uncooked turkey on her head. Call me shallow.
The music isn't that great to me either: It's just bland. Robert Smith's voice doesn't do it for me. If your band is going to be famous for a lead singer he should be like a Robert Plant and like a David Bowie if hes going to be this level of eccentric.
In the end I suppose it just boils down to preference. What I won't do now that I might have in the past is tell you that you suck for liking The Cure.