Sixteen missed calls. Bret is hiding underneath his desk,
wondering if he still has a job, and should he start a new life as
a Buddhist monk.

Heather treated Bret so mean. The ghost inside the
answering machine is threatening to make him try
to fuck her.

You don't wanna do that...but yeah you do
You know that she's a crazy bitch, so dude what are ya trying to prove?
I can tell you should wanna jet, don’t really wanna make her wet
Consider making it easier...

Breaking up with Bret.
And he don’t know
what’s good for him.

And that’s exactly what she counts on.

And he don’t know
what’s good for him.

And that’s exactly why she’s breaking up with Bret.

Afraid to go downtown. Sees her face in every coffee shop around the corner.
Hides behind a car. It’s solid snake.
She kicks his ass. It doesn’t hurt.
Your knight in shining skull T-shirt is here. She tells him
“It’s about damn time he is.” He
dated lovely girls possessed of lovely smells.
They treated him very well.
That made him bored as hell.

For six months off and on he tried to maintain his stance.
The stirring in his pants.
It put him in a trance,
thinking about Heather.

It's that, juicy addiction that has clouded his thoughts
He takes it over to the bar because it makes sense with shots
Staying the fuck buddy of a lady who's too lovely
To describe with mortal words, but every night another t-shirt bloody
With every broken screen, another fantasy
Stabbed with verbal arrows but with damaged thoughts of vanity
Cause he's been happy before, but he has also been bored
Brain has some corruption cause that data never seems to be stored
But he'd remember every way she'd move and shiver
Every time that he would touch her like a lover with his finger
But Bret has to stay strong and stop thinking with his center
Let her call until the Octagon no longer wants to enter

I sent a box containing six white envelopes,
consecutively labeled “do not open until thirty days after the last one.” Each
contained a single later, reminding Bret that if he tried to talk to her her he
couldn’t help but try to fuck her

Boots outside the door. She takes her clothes off where his eyes can see.
Get you harder than a magazine. Rigor mortis like a mausoleum .

Yes. Yes. Less is more, he tries to convince himself.
His self esteem is up and on the shelf.
Can’t get no mental health
sticking it to Heather.