I Am the Least of Your Problems

Woke in a ditch where the bitches grin to the sound of the present tense

How many sound checks can a man ignore before he turns into a shadow of himself?

I've got nothing left but an autograph and the strangest sense of doubt

I think the name belongs to me

But someone else is living with it

I am the least of your problems

But I don't mind

Fell on myself with the tender touch and the shame of the indiscreet

How many hand jobs can a man enjoy till he forms into a puddle at his feet?

I got things to say in a plastic voice that I learned on the way to hell

Again the point of missing you

No one else will do it for me

I am the least of your problems

But I don't mind

Draw it out as long as you can bear it

Fight it out

Fight it out

Fight it out the misery is glorious