Lost On Me

Mary, Mary, quite contrary to popular belief
I know how your garden grows, by feeding off those pretty maids

We lined up underneath, thy silver tongue in
Cheek
Knocked face down in the leaves, all of your humor in
Irony
Is lost on me

Mary, Mary, I can't seem to quite find belief
Pressing together my palms and staring up at the ceiling

Roses ’round my neck, pockets full of plague and
Pestulance
With bruises on my knees, all of your [?]
See
Lost on me

So, keep on making that straight face
Keep spitting out those lines
Someone's bound to believe it
Hell, I believed you every time

But if you need someone to pray for or prey on
Well, don't you look to me
I’m neither soft, nor scum ugly earth, nor somewhere inbetween

You, yeah you make me feel lost