Wish I could write songs About anything other than death I can't go to bed Without trying the red shaven operas Each one so heavy Each one so cumbersome Each one a lead weight Hanging between my lung Spilling my guts Spit on a microphone breaking my voice Whenever I'm alone with you, can't talk Isn't this weather nice? Are you're okay? Should I go somewhere else and hide my face? Sprinter, learning away Marathon running, my ankles are sprained ♪ Marathon running, my ankles are sprained Ooh, ooh, ooh Ooh, ooh, ooh Ooh, ooh, ooh Ooh, ooh, ooh