Ghosts (The)
Over-Analysis
Well I don't mean anything
coz it makes no difference Yiu shake your head again
as I try to make ammends
Well I know I've got a gift for over-analysis
I'll try to make it fit but I'll make a mess of it
You say there's nothing to it,
that the press is sometimes wrong
But the stars predict that I'll be tricked oh
Break my bones and string me along
But I still go on til I've got nothing left inside
A waste of time or a grand design?
Oh never mind, coz I've got no more pride to swallow now
I don't mean to make a fuss
but you're meant to be helping us
I'll add the numbers up
but I always get too much
You say there's nothing to it,
that the press is sometimes wrong
But the stars predict that I'll be tricked
Break my bones and string me along
Letras de cancionesBut I still go on til I've got nothing left inside
A waste of time or a grand design?
Oh never mind, coz I've got no more pride to swallow now
And I don't know why I should bother if you see black and white not colour
Don't you see that I don't care if you don't want me there?
Will I ever find something better
to fill my time?
Well I've never tried
but I'd be so very far behind
I'm gonna draw a line and try to cross it by January
I'm running out of time
but I've come so many miles and miles
with all these things
that I do
It's all I can do
From Letras Mania