This is a song I wrote.

The down and dirty dozen and the cops were kissin’ cousins

And they left me with the tools, cause I’m the best at getting screwed

You lobbied like a lawyer, fed me reasons like they’re food

But I’ve been beaten I’ve been starved into a more carnivorous mood

Now I want to fill my hunger but I don’t know where to start

A girl with an actual heart

A girl with an actual heart

I was sucked into your chest where you held me like your breath

And you left me in that hollowness to entertain myself

With all the other things in life we never cared to tell between

Psychotropics, opiates, carcinogens, amphetamines

Recreational or chronic, who can tell the two apart?

And a girl with an actual heart

A girl with an actual heart

My arm was fully able when I pulled up to the table

But my will to win just buckled at the whiteness of your knuckles

So I lay my arm down easy, I don’t want to make you strain

And I don’t mind being beaten ‘cause it keeps me entertained

Now, who could ever turn away from such an easy mark?

A girl with an actual heart

A girl with an actual heart

If not your hand, use your fist

If not my heart, at least my wrist

Just hold onto something

Don’t leave me with nothing

If I just escape and hide I think the best that I would find

Would be somebody I could teach to help me reenact our crimes

So I’ve got to go to ground before I start to bottom out

There are things it does me so much better to forget about

Sleeping soundly, breathing easy, finding my way in the dark

A girl with an actual heart

A girl with an actual heart