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Born To Lose

de Rasputina

The Summer I
Simmered simple in the sand,
No tongue- tied
Mum and dumb,

The comb, it just
Found itself in my hand
I stood when I
Should I run.

A conspiracy
Those fellows and me
And the comb, the way it's going
Hardly I
Hardly I
Hardly I knew him
But he had to die.

To establish
Whereabouts, where for?
If guilty, flawed or more
The world would find me
Sprawled on the floor
A vulgar foreigner
A conspiracy
Those fellows and me
And the comb, the way it's going
Hardly I
Hardly I
Hardly I knew him
But he had to die.

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