[Verse 1] I changed my aesthetic, deleted our grid Threw out all the memories of us that I kept Bought a new leather jacket, said I didn’t care Spent an hour fixing my hair in the mirror It’s pathetic, I’m posing alone in my room Waiting for a notification that never comes through I tell everyone I’m better, like I’ve got nothing to prove But the only thing I’m good at is pretending I’m over you [Pre-Chorus] And the whiskey tastes just like it used to Which means it tastes like missing you Yeah, sobriety looks good on paper, but— [Chorus] You’re a nicotine patch on a broken bone! Dialing a number I used to call home! I’m clean for a week, then I crack on the floor And I’m back at your doorstep, begging for more! Oh, it’s tragic, it’s sick, it’s a waste of my youth— (Beat drops) God, I hate that I’m telling the truth! (Ooh-ooh!) Yeah, I hate that I’m telling the truth! [Verse 2] You’re dating that artist who paints on his face I hope every red light keeps him miles away Does he quote bad philosophy into your ear? Do you laugh at his jokes just to keep him near? ‘Cause I know that look you get when you’re bored out your mind I gave back your sweaters—well, most of them. Never mind. [Pre-Chorus] And the whiskey tastes just like it used to Which means it tastes like missing you Yeah, sobriety looks good on paper, but— [Chorus] You’re a nicotine patch on a broken bone! Dialing a number I used to call home! I’m clean for a week, then I crack on the floor And I’m back at your doorstep, begging for more! Oh, it’s tragic, it’s sick, it’s a waste of my youth— God, I hate that I’m telling the truth! (Ooh-ooh!) Yeah, I hate that I’m telling the truth! [Bridge — Spoken / Lo-fi Vocal] Are you lying to your friends too? Telling them you’re doing just fine without me? Or staring at the ceiling, asking yourself why We traded something real for a little less pain? (Drum roll building…) IT WAS NEVER PEACE! IT WAS JUST NUMBING THE PAIN! (Heavy guitar / distorted bass solo) [Final Chorus] You’re a nicotine patch on a broken bone! Dialing a number I used to call home! I’m clean for a week, then I crack on the floor And I’m back at your doorstep, begging for more! Oh, it’s tragic, it’s sick, it’s a waste of my youth— God, I hate that I’m telling the truth! (Ooh-ooh!) Yeah, I hate that I’m telling the truth! [Outro — Half-whispered, then full vocal] Yeah, I hate that I’m telling the truth. You’re a bad habit I refuse to cure. (Ooh-ooh…) (Heavy bassline cuts off abruptly.)
