Confetti for Myself

Four pairs of sneakers

Not a single smudge inside

I’m locked away inside my castle for the night

What’s the use in fashion if you’ve got no eager people to impress

I’m shredding up my dress to make confetti for myself

The kettle’s crying and the ceiling fan is slow

I dream of all the foreign places we could go

What’s the use in dreamin’ if you’ve got no hopeful feelin’s to express

I’m shredding up my dress to make confetti for myself

Five hundred photographs all bleached out by the sun

I’ve painted pentagrams on each and every one

What’s the use in tryin’ if you’ve got no eager people to impress

I’m shredding up my dress to make confetti for myself