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Disillusioned, broken but your memory's intact |
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It's running through your head like an explosion |
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And the smiles on the faces of the children in the park |
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Are just a momentary loss of inhibition |
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Well, you try to keep it all intact with bubblegum and twine |
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It's bound to make a mess along the sidewalk |
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And a sticky wish has weasled its way into the corner of your brain |
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Now it's time to let that weasel talk again |
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It's clear as mud and nearly twice as thick |
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It's out of reach and heavy as a brick |
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It's quick to make a notion of your overgrown emotion |
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And it's getting so much louder every day |
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Whatcha saying, whatcha saying to me? |
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I can't hear a word |
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You amplify the music and you magnify the dots |
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And you blow up pink balloons when it's your birthday |
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And you look inside your glovebox for a map when you are lost |
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But there is not a roadsign leading me to you |
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I hear the words, the nouns and verbs, in conjugated forms |
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But they just never seem to quite make up a sentence |
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And the dictionary tells me where the words you say are from |
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But let me file it under "I" for incoherent |
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It's clear as mud and nearly twice as thick |
|
It's out of reach and heavy as a brick |
|
It's quick to make a notion of your overgrown emotion |
|
And it's getting so much louder every day |
|
Whatcha saying, whatcha saying to me? |
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I can't hear a word |
