I'm lacing up my shoes.

I'm going out tonight but I'm staying in my head and smoking your cigarettes I found on the kitchen counter.

Maybe I want you to notice, and maybe I want you to catch me.

Maybe I want you notice, and maybe I want you.

You look best in the morning, in my flannel shirt, and sheets that keep you warm.

That plaster, the ceiling won't last that long.

My history keeps my tongue locked behind my teeth

and I just can't shake these memories when I know that they have made me who I am.

I'm tripping backwards over time lines that I can't forget.

I'm moving nowhere on a treadmill there's nothing to it.