Wish I could write songs
About anything other than death
I can′t go to bedWithout trying the red shaven operas
Each one so heavy
Each one so cumbersome
Each one a lead weight
Hanging between my lung
Spilling my guts
Spit on a microphone breaking my voice
Whenever I'm alone with you, can′t talk
Isn't this weather nice? Are you're okay?
Should I go somewhere else and hide my face?
Sprinter, learning away
Marathon running, my ankles are sprained
Marathon running, my ankles are sprained
Ooh, ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh, ooh
