| Sick of this ceiling and tired of the bedroom floor
|
| Swimming in the hallway, looking for an open door
|
| I’ve tried to sleep, I’ve sung these songs before
|
| They come back to me in different colors
|
| These shadows and numbers are staring me down
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| Yeah, I hate the feeling of hanging around
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| Ah, maybe this time, maybe this time we’ll be fine
|
| We could make shapes out of old ways
|
| Watch them fight the sky
|
| The mind is a cage no bird is used to
|
| When we fly
|
| Whatever we make is never a waste of time
|
| Breathing my demons
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| Funny how they all blow smoke
|
| Talking to the good ones
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| And laughing at the songs we wrote
|
| I’ve had this dream, a little less intense when I’m sleeping
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| And my tongue keeps speaking different colors
|
| These shadows and numbers keep staring me down
|
| Ooh you know I hate it when they do that
|
| Ah, maybe this time, maybe this time we’ll be fine
|
| We could make shapes out of old ways
|
| Watch them fight the sky
|
| The mind is a cage no bird is used to
|
| When we fly
|
| Whatever we make is never a waste of time
|
| Ah, maybe this time, maybe this time we’ll be fine
|
| We could make shapes out of old ways
|
| Watch them fight the sky
|
| The mind is a cage no bird is used to
|
| When we fly
|
| Whatever we make is never a waste of time
|
| Never a waste, never a waste of time
|
| Never a waste, never a waste of time |