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• Artiste: Polly Scattergood
• Titre: Number 24
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Honest is killing me I feel you burning holes in me And ripping open threads Like I'm some big enchanting crossword And I know I have to get back up But when I cry, I cry a lot And nothing much is going on The poet and the Vicar's son And so maybe next time, Likely never, So strip the whips And you can burn that leather You can paint the keys, sir, Hide the door Because it's pretty damn quiet, Number 24 And I live in bedsit in the south So bite my nails and tape my mouth And pretend life, life's so fucking sickly sweet You've got the bitter eyes, you've got these rotting teeth Fuck me up, sir, you fade away Give me my own "Polly Day" And clean my boots of suck my toes In pretend life nobody knows I'm okay, I'm okay You're just fine And one day we might Have a good day But maybe next time, Likely never, So strip the whips And you can burn that leather You can paint the keys, sir, Hide the door Because it's pretty damn quiet, Number 24 And I live in bedsit in the south So bite my nails and tape my mouth In a pretend life, life's so fucking sickly sweet You've got the bitter eyes, you've got these rotting teeth If I was still seventeen If I was twice as nice, if you were half as mean Then I might give you a second chance To feel the way it maybe should've been Throw me a line, suck my cherry Say you love is dead and buried And find a blonde girl that looks a bit like me Maybe this time you might get it But maybe next time, Likely never, So you can strip my whips And you can burn that leather You can paint the keys, sir, Hide the door Because it's pretty damn quiet, At number 24 And I live in bedsit in the south So bite my nails and tape my mouth In a pretend life, life's so fucking sickly sweet You've got the bitter eyes, you've got these rotting teeth...