|
You pull it to the right and I bring it back to center |
|
I blame it on your pride and you blame it on my temper |
|
Standing on the skin of a cell, it was sickle |
|
For me it was over, the coroner, the cripple |
|
We'd spend our lives making out middles |
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Oh, to give so much got me so little |
|
We'd spend our lives making out middles |
|
Oh, to give so much got me so little |
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For all that was said, I believe it wasn't spoken |
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You sang it to the wall but the tune, it wasn't holding |
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My guess it wasn't bound to the spine, to the spindle |
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For all I lead you from, I'm the coroner, the cripple |
|
We'd spend our lives making out middles |
|
Oh, to give so much got me so little |
|
We'd spend our lives making out middles |
|
Oh, to give so much got me so little |
|
We'd spend our lives making out middles |
|
Oh, to give so much got me so little |
