Boomerang

HE LIKES TO PLAY AN ELECTRIC GUITAR HE DOES SING, BUT NOT IN A CHOIR HE THINKS HE’S COOL WITH HIS 19 TIRES GOT THE LOOKS BUT HE’S PLAYING WITH FIRE ALWAYS COMES BACK LIKE A BOOMERANG BACK TO ME THE WORDS OF A LIAR DO HURT LIKE BREAKING A KNEE SOBER FEELS OUT OF CONTROL EVENINGS ARE HIGH, MORNINGS ARE LOW HE CAN’T ACCEPT THAT HE’S GETTING THIRTY HE’S OH SO SLOW, NEVER IN A HURRY HE SERVES DESIRE WITH HURT AS A POTION TO ME WHENEVER HE’S GONE HE REINVENTS THE WORD FREE