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I feel like I'm coming down with it |
|
All of the symptoms fit |
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And I backslide |
|
An eye on the clock |
|
I don't talk much |
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When I'm running |
|
On the inside |
|
When every conclusion reached |
|
Is out to you |
|
I put on my best face and my kid gloves, too |
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And held up the end |
|
Until it's out of my hands |
|
Out of my hands |
|
And if you tuned in to see blood |
|
It's not a subject that I surpass in |
|
My mission's been scrubbed; my brains were washed |
|
Because I never was your assassin |
|
It's like a desert |
|
Sand will have to do |
|
And between my fingers |
|
Saw it running through |
|
Until it turned into this |
|
And out of my hands |
|
Out of my hands |
|
Out of my hands |
|
So come up and check |
|
There's nothing up my sleeve |
|
All the while |
|
It's getting harder for you to believe |
|
Out of my hands |
|
Out of my hands |
|
Out of my hands |
