| Corner with no headroom
|
| First bedroom
|
| First bed
|
| Lookin' for warmth
|
| From cold damn feather, late day
|
| Lay dead
|
| Strange love hangover
|
| You’ll get over it
|
| Tickin' time bomb
|
| On the line of
|
| It’s a lunatic’s growing fit
|
| Now we’re shamed in the quietest fame
|
| Tremble like the fire
|
| Try to have the body of your indiscretion
|
| You’ll just go with time
|
| Minimal media
|
| Is comin' through the roof
|
| Lookin' for the point where the tree was wrapped in
|
| Lookin' for the point of truth
|
| And your dress
|
| And your skin attests
|
| They haven’t had to shave your ruse
|
| Leaving me to bare this burden of truth
|
| That’s why she stayed in that room
|
| That’s why you backed down those stairs
|
| Likeness fails and reflections fade
|
| She made you medal history
|
| Backfired, again
|
| Now you know that love is blown
|
| Now you understand love’s price
|
| Try to pass it off on fate’s two hands
|
| Try to blame it all on the stars
|
| Staring all these pieces together
|
| Stood up like desire
|
| Just another wasted weekend
|
| Rode the tide in the fire
|
| Listen to the hail on you
|
| Falling backward through their fight
|
| That’s why she stayed in that room
|
| That’s why he backed down those steps
|
| Likeness fails and reflections fade
|
| She made you medal history
|
| Backfired, again |