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Sometimes my head gets so crazy from all |
|
this contemplating |
|
So different from the mistakes I've been making |
|
And tragedies we're facing... |
|
So tell me can money buy your point of view? |
|
Even trophy boys and girls sing the blues |
|
The things that you're haunted by; you're in so high |
|
Inside your candy-coated life |
|
When perfect isn't making sense |
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When perfect makes you sick! |
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I'm so tired with my hands always shaking |
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And I've been concentrating |
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On how my seconds I can go without breathing |
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Or days I can go without feeling |
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So tell me again, how your parents fucked you up! |
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With traditions from the bluest blood! |
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The things that you're haunted by and lived so high |
|
Inside your candy coated life |
|
And perfect isn't making sense |
|
And perfect's making you feel sick |
|
Your life is in a constant panic |
|
Perfect package turning tragic |
|
Seems to make a perfect fit |
|
Of how empty your perfect life has been |
|
I'm so tired with my hands always shaking |
|
And I've been concentrating |
|
So different from the mistakes I've been making |
|
And tragedies we're facing... |
|
So tell me can money buy your point of view? |
|
Even trophy boys and girls sing the blues |
|
The things that you're haunted by, you're in so high |
|
Inside your candy coated life |
|
When perfect isn't making sense |
|
When perfect's making you feel sick |
|
Your life is in a constant panic |
|
Perfect package turning tragic |
|
Seems to make a perfect fit |
|
Of how empty your perfect life has been... |
