We use cushions to cover happy glands
In the mild issue of our disgrace
Our minds pressed and guarded
While our flesh disregarded
The lack of space for the light-hearted
In the boom that beats our drum
Well I know I make you cry
And I know sometimes you wanna die
But do you really feel alive without me?
If so, be free
If not, leave him for me
Before one of us has
a c c i d e n t a l b a b i e s
