I'm the biggest hypocrite that I know I've ever known You call me selfish A shell fish Too much to deal with And I don't get out much It's getting hard
Chord spine the way of a splinter Masked bags with mixed days that didn't Rhyme to me or speak to me Rhyme to me or speak to me Tan lines that burn
Work hard towards nothing A garden growing hurt Fresh wheels but no body A truck that just won't work Dead leaves burn as easily as gasoline does And
High place outside You wish you could be Far from all this Black out before fists Make out more lists Was it right? I couldn't tell That place inside
Junk is what junk does to another Place the fact in the hand Place the hand-me down in a jar To make it more palatable To make it more palatable
Need for more mode shift Slip in one more stick shift Pack your bags then burn the flag More or less the same black Pack your bags then burn the flag
You doubt me and make my decisions for me You doubt me and make my decisions for me I won't take your advice Not now not then I never will You doubt
I find it hard to believe your bullshit Licking bloodied knees Perfect timing Perfect timing I keep my method to myself I keep my method to myself
Tried to pull one over on you It didn't turn out the way I wanted it to But I'll try again And this time I won't give up This time I won't give up
Looking down on my home planet What a lonely place to be Said goodbye to all family Don't think I'll be back home in time To see them off to heaven
What we're looking for it's not in you They all seem like clones to me And I won't let them change me This small crawl bug has seen through their skin
I thought I could break the sound barrier just by trying to hit with focus and at random and never dying A waterfall flowing upstream only human I
Can't get much more than I'm finding Too many places I'm bound Too close to the quota Rest stops the time clock It's winding it's way, Sound advice
: I'm the biggest hypocrite that I know I've ever known You call me selfish A shell fish Too much to deal with And I don't get out much It's getting
: Chord spine the way of a splinter Masked bags with mixed days that didn't Rhyme to me or speak to me Rhyme to me or speak to me Tan lines that burn
: Work hard towards nothing A garden growing hurt Fresh wheels but no body A truck that just won't work Dead leaves burn as easily as gasoline does
: I thought I could break the sound barrier just by trying to hit with focus and at random and never dying A waterfall flowing upstream only human
: Need for more mode shift Slip in one more stick shift Pack your bags then burn the flag More or less the same black Pack your bags then burn the
