I like it best When you stretch The neck of my shirt The drugs, they don't work Makes it worse You came to me And you speak kindly At the cemetery The drugs, they don't work Makes it worse Dreams aren't dreams When you can't leave Ghost of a sweet thing I'm not free I'm empty I grip my fist, my ring sinks in Burn a little hole In my soul Burn a little hole In my soul Burn a little hole In my soul Burn a little hole In my soul Burn a little hole In my soul Burn a little hole In my soul Burn a little hole In my soul Burn a little hole In my soul