The Taste Of Blood - Incapable Of Abstract Thought

You play the headstrings as if they were a harp.
Don't you tell me any different.
So cut the drama.
We'll shed no tears for you.
You are nothing in the grand scheme of things.
Catch and release.
But I want to take you down to where the greatest beasts get butterflies.
I think you should go back to where you came from.
You're fucking things up.
You're not wanted here.
You are losing your appeal just as fast as rumors fly.