| Where would he go for fun in this town?
|
| How would he sit and bookend days?
|
| No, I don’t need the poetry
|
| More than a moment could upset the need
|
| Console for the love, but the love belongs to me
|
| The light, the light, the light, the light
|
| The light, the light, the light, the light that finds me
|
| The light, the light, the light, the light
|
| The light, the light, the light, the light that finds me
|
| Mother, I feel the crowds on the turn
|
| Took out the windows
|
| Moved the stairs
|
| And I don’t need the comedy
|
| Holding the door to my own tragedy
|
| Take blame for the hurt, but the hurt belongs to me
|
| The light, the light, the light, the light
|
| The light, the light, the light, the light that finds me
|
| The light, the light, the light, the light
|
| The light, the light, the light, the light that finds me
|
| You must die a little
|
| You must exercise
|
| You must die a little
|
| Bury the keys and get to work
|
| You must die a little
|
| You must exercise
|
| You must die a little
|
| You must hate yourself
|
| You must die a little
|
| You must die a little
|
| You must die a little
|
| Bury the keys and get to work |