Alone in your dorm trying to stay warm, you're scared of the words that you might write, if you stay in again tonight. Like all the saints and who*es who lay here before, you're scared of the things that you might do while you wait for him to come to you. (I understand. I understand.) Loneliness is p**nography to them but to us it is an art. They won't read your biography, these men, they will only break your heart. But I read it, then I wrote it. I read it, then I wrote it. I read it, then I wrote it again. Alone in your dorm, you pull the fire alarm. You're scared of the words that you might write if you stay in again tonight.> In your tattered mess of a wedding dress, you're scared of the things that you might do while you wait for him to come to you. (I understand. I understand.) Loneliness is p**nography to them but to us it is an art. They won't read your biography, these men, they will only break your heart. But I read it, then I wrote it. I read it, then I wrote it. I read it, then I wrote it again. Out in front of your dorm a crowd will form.