制作
歌词
You pull it to the right and I bring it back to center
I blame it on your pride and you blame it on my temper
Standing on the skin of a cell, it was sickle
For me, it was over, the coroner, the cripple
We spend our lives making out middles
Oh, to give so much got me so little
We spend our lives making out middles
Oh, to give so much got me so little
For all that was said, I believe it wasn't spoken
You sang it to the wall, but the tune, it wasn't holding
My guess, it wasn't bound to the spine, to the spindle
For all I led you from, I'm the coroner, the cripple
We spend our lives making out middles
Oh, to give so much got me so little
We spend our lives making out middles
Oh, to give so much got me so little
We spend our lives making out middles
Oh, to give so much got me so little
Written by: Elizabeth Powell
