Some of my friends

They don't understand

Why you got nobody

Holding your hand

I’d never set you up

You take your time, that’s fine

Except the graveyard shift

You got a life divine

You say paramours

Are a waste of expensive lingerie

But to all of them

You’re the one who got away

Post-Punk, Post-Love

That’s an efficient turn of phrase

To codify your raison d’etre

Post-Punk, Post-Love

Making nights of all your days

You’re Hecate hyphenate

You keep pulling those cards

Hoping they’ll come up hearts

But the spread says death

Comes before the lovers

So don’t turn over the others

With the sound compressed

No more whiplash stress

All the highs and lows

Are just so overrated

Now you’re desaturated

You say paramours

Are a waste of expensive lingerie

But to all of them

You’re the one who got away

Post-Punk, Post-Love

That’s an efficient turn of phrase

To codify your raison d’etre

Post-Punk, Post-Love

Making nights of all your days

You’re Hecate hyphenate

You may lay your body down

But you won't lay your heart out on the line

Some of my friends

They still hang around

I guess they're hopin you'll check

The lost and found

Post-Punk, Post-Love

That’s an efficient turn of phrase

To codify your raison d’etre

Post-Punk, Post-Love

Making nights of all your days

You’re Hecate hyphenate

You may lay your body down

But you won't lay your heart out on the line

Every time

Putting on the bravest face

But you don't have the courage to decide

And I know why