| There’s no good in your eyes anymore
|
| And it makes you want to drive home
|
| Drunk and alone
|
| Curse the faces in the wheat
|
| Drown yourself in the gold
|
| Because you can’t let it go
|
| Makes you almost miss the smell of smoke in your clothes
|
| And it makes you want to wear the wool
|
| It’s that need like nothing else
|
| You bullshit with the best and wait for what’s perfect
|
| You bitch and moan more than most about
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| Where you think your life will take you
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| But you know that’s no sort of pretending
|
| And I guess it’s the things that I don’t say
|
| And we’re just pretending
|
| And I guess it’s the things that I don’t say
|
| There’s no good in your eyes anymore
|
| There’s no good in your eyes anymore
|
| Anymore
|
| Nothing is worse than doing nothing
|
| Is worse than doing nothing
|
| And I know, well, who’s hiding it?
|
| Who the hell is hiding it?
|
| Who’s hiding it?
|
| Who the hell is hiding it?
|
| But you can’t stay angry forever
|
| And I know, but you can’t stay angry forever; |
| or so I’m told
|
| Or so I’m told
|
| But you can’t stay angry forever; |
| or so I’m told
|
| But the house gets so quiet
|
| Sitting here wishing for just an hour or two
|
| Alone with you
|
| Well, it’s always too personal
|
| Always too close to comment
|
| They all mention how tired you look
|
| And you realize you haven’t said a word in hours
|
| Well, who’s hiding it?
|
| Who the hell is hiding it?
|
| I guess it’s the things that I don’t say
|
| I guess it’s the things that I don’t say |