Hay Fever

(альбом: By The Throat - 2009)

I'm not shit, I'm champagne
Let's all go home, kill ourselves and our radios
Where's my head? This isn't mine
Nobody loves a thing everyone is fucking crazy
In control, it's not my fault
They'll be sorry once I skin them
Scared to life, a painless death
Make sure she knows I love her right before she floats away
I can't hear you, screams too loud
All my ideas become perfect little blind spots
Fold me in, tucked away
I'm starting to think I never learn what I need to learn
All things pass, we bruise skin
Holding onto things that we shouldn't be allowed to keep
Make them proud, dredged in guilt
Call me when the miracle reduces to coincidence

My casted wings are almost stubs now
I can't feel a thing, just like you promised
I was always bad at being good
I was always bad at being good
I was always bad

There's no hell more harsh than a memory
There's no home more hell than an empty nest
Winter takes the warm away, spring takes the cold away
Summer takes the rain away and fall took away my friend
I believe there's never a place better than right where you are
Although imagining an afterlife can tend to mend a broken heart
And with someone dead, it's a way of coping with loss
But I don't need you out there somewhere if I have you in my thoughts
I don't envy anyone in a position where they're forced to choose
Pull the plug or not I can't tell if this is for me or you
I mean I know you're sick, tired, and confused
But sometimes letting the tired go to sleep is the best thing to do
I will hold your head while the doctor sticks the needle in
I'll always remember our companionship and what it meant
And on Sunday, October the 5th, you took your last breath
And you will be missed

My casted wings are almost stubs now