I wonder why you're avoiding or realising   I'm on the edge of a spectrum   I don't know what else it would take.   I cut out this distress, perfect for a bite   And let you taste me like a forgein plate.      Plastic, plastic, plastic   Stone, stone, wasted in the light.   Drew perfect pictures of sunflowers   Arching their heads the sun.      Perfect boy, perfect blue   Baking in the sun like a    Pile of stolen bills.      Is this perfect moment stuck in the sheets?   Is it still fresh tasting and full of foam?   The stench of youth smoked away   The stench of youth smoked away   The stench of youth smoked away   The stench of youth smoked away      Plastic, plastic, plastic   Stone, stone, wasted in the light.