Hours

The hours don't add up.

I don't expect too much,

but I hate easily enough,

and I hate that I miss you sometimes, and such.

There's something about the way

you're running me over and over,

there's something in the way

you used to kiss me over and over.

You have me in your clutch

and my dress on the floor, and such,

and my head and my heart and my skin,

and a way of letting me back in.

You've been messing me around up until now,

and the hours don't add up,

you've put your words in my mouth up until now,

and the hours don't add up,

and I let you turn me around up until now.

There's something about the way

you're touching me over and over,

something about the times

you used to fuck me over and over,

and the hours don't add up.