Print

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 so Isn't this weather nice? Sure you're okay? Should I go somewhere else and lie on my face? Sprinter, learning away Marathon running, my ankles are sprained Marathon running, my ankles are sprained From Letras Mania