Scylla
But fate’s a cruel mistress girl, the prettiest in the world;
she dresses loosely in her bathrobe with her hair up in curls.
‘Cause we were kissing for hours, with her hands in my trousers;
she could not contain herself, suggests we go back to her house.
But here it comes, this is the crux - she vomits down my rental tux;
I’m not sure if it’s love anymore, but I’ve been thinking of you fondly for sure.
Remember what your heart is for.
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