| It was so cold in the top room
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| But I didn’t wanna risk waking you
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| So I let it sit in my feet and my fingers
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| With everything I burn, the dull ache, it lingers
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| And I don’t know if I’ll be able to complete
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| What other people do each day without noticing
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| And I don’t know if I’ll be able to compete
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| With the way I feel these days about almost everything
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| One bad week for a life of breathing
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| A few nights lay awake for an eternity of sleeping
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| I wanna feel it now
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| Cough me in, breathe me in and spit me out
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| I am someone in your passenger’s seat
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| I’m your punching bag
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| I will let you kick the shit outta me
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| And I’ll hold your hand
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| I’ll be whatever you tell me to be
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| And I’ll understand
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| Breathing out cold air in my own house
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| And wondering why I could not afford a solution to that by now
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| And I’m sure everything seems romantic
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| In reality, it’s uncomfortable to deal with
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| Falling asleep every other afternoon
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| To the sound of being alone and having nothing to do
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| And I’m sure moving in straight away made you feel safe
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| But it probably wasn’t great for my mental state
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| And one bad week for a life of breathing
|
| A few nights lay awake for an eternity of sleeping
|
| Wanna feel it now
|
| Cough me in, breathe me in and spit me out
|
| I am someone in your passenger’s seat
|
| I’m your punching bag
|
| I will let you kick the shit outta me
|
| While I hold your hand
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| I’ll be whatever you tell me to be
|
| And I’ll understand
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| If I can’t see
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| A future for you without evil
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| A future for me without you will
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| Only make it better
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| So I start hoping
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| Then I stop smoking
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| Because the ducks are in a row and
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| This is my best chance to get my shit together
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| When I turned twenty-five, I was terrified
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| Still haven’t learnt to do the dishes
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| My mum was my age when I became alive
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| So I stopped hoping and I quit smoking
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| Because the writing’s on the wall
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| And it’s been there for a while
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| And it sure is nice to remember things, yeah
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| I am someone in your passenger’s seat
|
| I’m your punching bag
|
| I’ll let you kick the living shit outta me
|
| And I’ll hold your hand
|
| I am whatever you tell me to be
|
| And I understand |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song 25, artist - The Smith Street Band. Album song More Scared of You Than You Are of Me, in the genre Инди