Picker Of His Words

I still need to go
I don't wanna feel slow
I don't need to learn what's all-known
I don't know if you're right
I might be too tight
I don't wanna shred my words tonight
I bet that's what you say to those new girls you've been showing off
I bet that's how you flash lights when I've been hiding in the dark
From me, from me, from me
From me, from me, from me
Awfully late for the race
Delicate to the trace
I'm feeling too tired to run your pace
I don't know if you're wrong
Quit taking your calls
I can't tell if I'm falling or not
I bet you just walk on curls once they've already cooled off
I bet you just come in strong when I'm starting to break down
To me, to me, to me
To me, to me, to me
Oh master, a sinner, a picker of his words
A liar, well higher, he climbs up to his throne
And he picked a tablet; he likes these so absurd
Oh master, a sinner, a picker of his words
I know what to say, he tells me, tells me, anyway
He tells me what to say and calls it my way
Oh, it's every day, it's every night, and every way
He tells me, tells me what to say and calls it my day
I know what to say, he tells me, tells me, anyway
He tells me what to say and calls it my way
Oh, it's every day, it's every night, and every way
He tells me, tells me what to say and calls it my day