You're telling me how many times
I've over-stepped your understanding
I can count, thanks
I just don't to you.
I can think
Thank-you
I just don't
With you - face it
We are clowns, aren't we?
We put pictures in our skin
We sure screw, don't we?
We sure screw up everything.
So I must still have that picture
The one where you just hate me
Sometimes it's on the mirror
Sometimes it's in my diary
I burnt it and I binned it
But it turns up of an evening
A picture in a bottle,
Magnified and quite distorted.
'Cause when I threw with fighting I can agonise for England
And when I though with writing down my thoughts I'll be alone
With a notion that'll hurt me cause I'm such a fucking weakling
With emotions that don't even seem to come from me
And I'm scared to see the morning cause I'm fragile in the starkness
And I'm scared to leave the house in case somebody sees my artwork
And I've turned into a cliche, I'm a stupid bloody martyr
And I've turned into the person that my other self despises.
We are clowns, aren't we?
We put pictures in our skin
We sure screw, don't we?
We sure screw up everything.
The boys and girls are anxious
They want something to happen
They want something that's tangable and real.
The nurses and the doctors
They just want what's best for us
And that is understandable I ...
(1 ...2...feel...4...5...6...god, breath ... 8)
So I must still have that chapter
The one where I am unclean
Sometimes it's on a lecturn
Sometimes it's on the TV
I burnt it and I binned it
But sometimes it's right inside me
But sometimes I just see it, I just see it and I'm just free.
Someone told me you had been abandoned like a building
That nobody had made safe and asound though plenty people tried
It would just take one inquisitive and naive individual
And the whole lot would come crashing down with them inside.
And I'm scared to see the morning cause I'm fragile in the starkness
And I'm scared to leave the house in case somebody sees my artwork
And I've turned into a cliche, I'm a stupid bloody martyr
And I've turned into the person that my other self despises.
We are clowns, aren't we?
We put pictures in our skin
We sure screw, don't we?
We sure screw up everything.
The boys and girls are anxious
They want something to happen
They want something that's tangable and real.
The nurses and the doctors
They just want what's best for us
And that is understandable I ...
(1 ...2...feel...4...5...6...god, breath ... 8)
credits
from Problem Pages,
released December 10, 2004
Music & lyrics by R. Swayne
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