| In a state of mind half-a-world away, split apart from day to day
|
| The thought of switching grooves, a sudden swing of moods
|
| Then somehow everything changed
|
| Drastic differences in song, severed tunes now sung
|
| A full-circled hymn, a body rebuilding it’s tired right from wrong
|
| It’s always wrong
|
| Life, I was sick of a verse, it couldn’t get much worse
|
| I was caving in
|
| Then my words dropped out of the sky, out of the odd summer night
|
| I am the song
|
| Now my darkest days are half a world away, worlds away
|
| There were no choruses allowed
|
| There was dust spewed from the mouth
|
| The scent of growing old, a rushing surge of cold
|
| A never-ending cloud
|
| There were beautiful bridges burning thin
|
| All of the melodies sinking in, the thought of switching skin
|
| The need to make it out, I gotta make it out
|
| But it’s always wrong
|
| Life, I was sick of a verse, it couldn’t get much worse
|
| I was caving in
|
| Then my words dropped out of the sky, out of the odd summer night
|
| I am the song
|
| Now my darkest days are…
|
| Half a world away, worlds away |