Wish I could write songs about anything other than death
I can't go to bed without 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
Well, isn't this weather nice? Sure 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
