Wish I could write songs about anything other than death I can't go to bed without drawing the red shaven operas Each one so heavy, each one so cumbersome Each one a lead weight hanging between my lungs 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 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