You wrote the notes on cellophane
Wrap me up and suffocate my ears
Follow second hands ticking repetition
Dressing up for pop pesimism
It's a chokehold ticket to a one man show
The critics were raving
I didn't bother to go
Masses of martyrs in the wrong ticket line
I watch comedy classics because they're better than mine
I poison myself to find a cure
I manufacture sliding doors
And novacain sells me short
I poison myself to find a cure
I manufacture closing doors
I work in the factory where I was born

Lyrics submitted by HellionChild

The Chills song meanings
Add your thoughts

No Comments

sort form View by:
  • No Comments

Add your thoughts

Log in now to tell us what you think this song means.

Don’t have an account? Create an account with SongMeanings to post comments, submit lyrics, and more. It’s super easy, we promise!

Back to top