| So you wait for those stars to align
|
| Do you take that, I won’t take that
|
| Blood and the lust and the moon drive me wild
|
| Dear I’ve earned that, you can’t just have that
|
| Cause there are fires in this heart lit for miles
|
| When does this all get better
|
| Baby, I was born clever
|
| Still I have a dead head in my hands
|
| As I cry through the tremors
|
| To believe this gets better. |
| No, no — no!
|
| I don’t want to write sad songs, there’s something better
|
| Where’s the sun, here it comes — here it comes
|
| If you plan to leave by the door — forget her
|
| Is it done, is it done? |
| — Keep me
|
| They will march to the beat of my drum
|
| Lover’s bite them, coward’s need that
|
| So I trace all the lines in this poem
|
| Born with small hearts; |
| love won’t fix that
|
| Cause there are fires in this heart lit for miles
|
| When does all this get better
|
| Baby, I was born clever
|
| Still I have a dead head in my hands
|
| As I cried through the tremors
|
| To believe this gets better. |
| No, no — no!
|
| I don’t want to write sad songs, there’s something better
|
| Where’s the sun, here it comes — here it comes
|
| If you plan to leave behind the door — forget her
|
| Is it done, is it done, are you done
|
| Oh, I have a dead head in my hands
|
| When does all this get better?
|
| Baby, I was born clever
|
| Cause there are fires in this heart lit for miles
|
| And I’ll laugh through the tremors
|
| And believe this gets better. |
| No, no — no!
|
| I don’t want to write sad songs, there’s something better
|
| Where’s the sun, here it comes — here it comes
|
| If you plan to leave behind the door — forget her
|
| Is it done, are you done, is it done
|
| I don’t want to write sad songs, there’s something better
|
| Where’s the sun, here it comes — here it comes
|
| If you plan to leave by the door — forget her
|
| Is it done, there’s the sun — baby |