Thus I Wrote

Hey B, I hear you
But I ain’t no mushroom
You’re so hot on the stage
And so cold in the bedroom

You say you’re not happy
You say it’s my fault
Well that’s your wound
And that’s your salt

I worked with Becky
We had some platonic fun
But you made the bullet
And you pointed the gun

And what’s with the hive?
All them sisters now onside
Saying you’re now a victim
You know that’s not right

I love you baby
I want to see you happy
I never want to hurt you
But you gotta believe me

I love you baby
But you gotta move on
If we can’t stop hurting
Then we’ll soon be gone