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