| Is this room getting smaller or is it just me?
|
| I pace myself, brace myself, trying not to breath
|
| Oh, these walls are closing in on me like the Death Star bin
|
| Oh, that’ll learn me, that’ll squeeze out all the sin
|
| This world is bearing down on me like a fish-eye lens
|
| And when it comes down to it, do I have any real friends?
|
| How long were those monkeys typing to make all Billy’s work?
|
| I’ve some way to go yet, I’ll finish this one first
|
| Something’s gotta give
|
| I’m a failing restaurant, all expectant and sad
|
| With one eye on the door, playing cards out the back
|
| I’m love me, love me, love me, I’m a small bit of a prick
|
| I got the meat sweats from this realpolitik
|
| Sometimes I can see you shining in the night
|
| There’s Polly and Gillian and your man in the big suit
|
| Spitting out confetti that wallops with a kiss
|
| And I’m left thinking
|
| I wanna be a better band
|
| I wanna be a better band
|
| This is it, what are you crying for?
|
| This is it, were you expecting more?
|
| This is it, what are you crying for?
|
| This is it, were you expecting more?
|
| I wanna be a better band
|
| This is it, what are you crying for?
|
| This is it, were you expecting more?
|
| This is it, what are you crying for?
|
| This is it, were you expecting more?
|
| I wanna be a better band
|
| I wanna be a better band, oh
|
| I wanna be a better band
|
| I wanna be a better band, oh
|
| And shoot fire from my hands
|
| Fire from my hands
|
| Shoot fire from my hands |