Wish I could write songs about anything other than death
I can’t go to bed without drawing the red, shaving off breath
Each one so heavy, each one so cumbersome
Each one a lead weight hanging between my lung
Spilling my guts
Sweat on a microphone breaking my voice
Whenever I’m alone with you, can’t talk
Isn’t this weather nice? Sure you’re okay?
Should I go somewhere else and hide my face?
Sprinter, learning to wait
Marathon runner, my ankles are sprained
Marathon runner, my ankles are sprained
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