Box up your expectations
To allow the sun and dust and moss
To disguise all you saw as possible
Life is an exercise
In the art of disappointment
If you're constantly underwhelmed
Things can always be worse
I'll be better off come December
And while you're progressing
I'll be an exie
And I'll be punished for not changing
And you'll be punished for sticking around
Around, around, around, around, around, around
I've been craving to dismiss the order
Of all I know will be
Like a car crash in the country
Or a killing by the sea
I'll be better off come December
And while you're progressing
I'll be an exie
And I'll be punished for not changing
And you'll be punished for sticking around
Around, around, around, around, around, around
I spot the words of Camus
Amongst a stack by her loo
It must be kind of fitting
To have these thoughts while shitting
I spot the words of Camus
Amongst a stack by her loo
It must be kind of fitting
To have these thoughts while shitting
I spot the words of Camus
Amongst a stack by her loo
It must be kind of fitting
To have these thoughts while shitting
I spot the words of Camus
Amongst a stack by her loo
It must be kind of fitting
To have these thoughts while shitting
I'll be better off come December
And while you're progressing
I'll be an exie
And I'll be punished for not changing
And you'll be punished for sticking around
Around, around, around, around, around, around
