|
In a state of mind half-a-world away, split apart from day to day. |
|
The thought of switching grooves, a sudden swing of moods, |
|
Then somehow everything changed. |
|
Drastic differences in song, severed tunes now sung |
|
A full-circled hymn, a body rebuilding it's tired right from wrong. |
|
It's always wrong. |
|
Life, I was sick of a verse, it couldn't get much worse. |
|
I was caving in. |
|
Then my words dropped out of the sky, out of the odd summer night. |
|
I am the song. |
|
Now my darkest days are half a world away, worlds away. |
|
There were no choruses allowed. |
|
There was dust spewed from the mouth. |
|
The scent of growing old, a rushing surge of cold, |
|
A never-ending cloud. |
|
There were beautiful bridges burning thin. |
|
All of the melodies sinking in, the thought of switching skin. |
|
The need to make it out, I gotta make it out |
|
But it's always wrong. |
|
Life, I was sick of a verse, it couldn't get much worse. |
|
I was caving in. |
|
Then my words dropped out of the sky, out of the odd summer night. |
|
I am the song. |
|
Now my darkest days are... |
|
Half a world away, worlds away. |
