The Whitlams - Cries Too Hard lyrics

Torch the moon, burn the schools She wrote in red on her bedroom wall - "Nothing's pure", the paint runs to the floor She laughs too easily and cries too hard Shouldn't drink alone, the colours run How can she forgive When we know well what we do? Feather scratches on her wrist Dry run with a bread knife for a final twist It wouldn't be for show if it should come to this She was born to feel it all, to see it all When I feel so lightly it's still burning brightly And she won't look away Torch the moon, burn the schools Why's it a man making all the rules Frida Khalo poster on her door