|
All the patterns remain |
|
out of the lines on your face. |
|
I'm tired too. |
|
|
|
Well I chewed off my own foot |
|
just to get out of the trap |
|
then set it up again. |
|
Just to go back |
|
|
|
And I lost my sword |
|
and my shield in the war. |
|
But it's okay |
|
'cause you forgot what you were fighting for |
|
anyway. |
|
|
|
I could smile |
|
in two thousand mile increments |
|
to probably break my teeth |
|
as soon as you could see them. |
|
|
|
I might as well give up the chase |
|
while running in place |
|
in a two thousand mile space. |
|
oo-o-o-o-o |
|
what a waste |
|
|
|
So I guess |
|
where that mess on the floor is |
|
that you can never find the right place for... |
|
This wound will never heal right |
|
if we don't sew it up tight |
|
and tie off all the endings so that they |
|
never need mending |
