too close to criticise i know but i've got friends who are barely here. they've got sorrow in their bones, a bag of poison between their ears. i don't want to criticise your home but you've got furniture that she's restored, then left you all alone - you can't dress down the table sore. although you try to make the ceiling grow, put this bedroom on the floor, although you try to make it on your own, her arms go behind her head and you realise you're not coping anymore. so tell me what's this for? another heart attack isn't welcome anymore. i've met this girl i think i love, although her trousers are rarely around her ankles. we're close as shit you couldn't make it up but her mind is building bricks to handle. her throat is the size of a pickup truck and mine is the same except it's strangled and i'm doing all i can to wake it up but i'm left with the same sad eyes and the same dead cries from owen's lay-by show. but what does music know? another serenade from a guy who might explode. another tongue-tied slip from another skinny kid who has used up all his goes. the sorrow leads to fountains shitting hope and on that shit we choke.
Lyrics submitted by alionshead