pressplaymode +
A series of journal entries in form of music
 Who can make me, who can break me down into a young girl You say that love is not that easy And that’s the lesson that you teach me So hypocritical, overly cynical I’m sick and tired of all your preaching Who are you to tell me, tell me Who to, to be, to be? You’re my last bone of contention That could break at any mention You’re the last wall that will stand tall ‘Til the end of the world I know you only want to own me And that’s the kind of love you show me You tell me one thing and do another Keep all your secrets undercover Who are you to tell me, tell me Who to, to be, to be? Yeah, you let, you let go Yeah, you let, you let go Yeah, you let, you let go of me Yeah you played the martyr for so long That you can’t do anything wrong Who are you to tell me, tell me Who to, to be, to be? Yeah, you let, you let go Yeah, you let, you let go Yeah, you let, you let go of me Who are you to tell me, tell me Who to, to be, to be? Labels: Marina |
PressPlayMode
PressPlayMode is a diary of a nobody with weekly entries in form of music. Posting music on Sundays relevant to the life of Ellie (me). Please support the artists by buying their records, grabbing their merch and going to their gigs. Est. January 01 2014
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