n a u g h t y h e a r t c r a s h

And we're just following the flock,
Round and in between, before we're smashed to smithereens
Like they were, and we scramble from the blame.
And it's the fame that put words in her mouth.
She couldn't help but spit 'em out.
Innocence and arrogance entwined,
In the filthiest of minds.