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Well, I smoked my |
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Throat out last night |
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Hoping you'd call |
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Or just stop by |
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Now, I'm wheezing |
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Like the Oakland sky |
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Feeling like |
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The rusted tracks |
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And forgotten dream |
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Of the old train lines |
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It's a perpetual stone |
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In my shoe |
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One that I'll always |
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Be trying to shake loose |
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An ache in my chest |
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And a thorn in my side |
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More than a scratch |
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Beneath this skin |
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Somewhere between |
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The beginning and the end |
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I don't feel a lot lately |
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I don't feel whole lately |
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I don't feel much lately |
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That's how I hide |
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That's how I hide |
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You wrote it down not to |
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Draw attention to yourself |
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You let the pilot just |
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To blow it out |
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Here the conversation's |
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Always too loud |
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And we're as pathetic as the jumper |
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That listens to the crowd |
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To say I miss you |
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Wouldn't be enough |
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I feel like Tom Waits |
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Singing, 'Diamonds and rust' |
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And I'm as pathetic as a junkie |
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Who knows what he does |
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It's a perpetual stone |
|
In my shoe |
|
One that I'll always |
|
Be trying to shake loose |
|
An ache in my chest |
|
And a thorn in my pride |
|
More than a scratch |
|
Beneath this skin |
|
Somewhere between |
|
The beginning and the end |
|
I don't feel a lot lately |
|
I don't feel whole lately |
|
I don't feel much lately |
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But that's how I hide |
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That's how I hide |
