I found the words you wrote a year ago on my basement floor.ncheap teenage lines and i'm so glad that I don't need them anymorenand all the ink it bled to dirt and tore beneath my feetnas i watched the words they fell and burned through dust and memoriesnnif you think this song is about you it probably isnhe stabbed me in my back so I stabbed him in hisnhe bled blood insincere that fell down turning shades of black and bluenthese are the final words that I'm wasting on younnin dark and sleepless nights I found my lines and savored every wordnwhile you were sitting with your bottle and another weekly whorenyou're so disgusting with mascara bleeding down your paper masknthat hides your true lies no I'm gone and I never looking backnnnif you think this song is about you it probably isnhe stabbed me in my back so I stabbed him in hisnhe bled blood insincere that fell down turning shades of black and bluenthese are the final words that I'm wasting on younif you think this song is about you it probably isnhe stabbed me in my back so I stabbed him in hisnhe bled blood insincere that fell down turning shades of black and bluenthese are the final words that I'm wasting on you