I'm taking syllables that I want to lose meaning And painting them in white up on the ceiling To swim around the air while I am sleeping And in the morning they'll be a little bit blurrier.
And one morning I'll be squinting from my bed To make out the letters overhead But they've blurred into a cloud up there instead And I'm inviting you to be white paint.
Where do you send things to When your heart ain't got no room? 'Cos I'm set on banishing My undying love Unwavering favor of All the wrong things.
Those syllables will sound against my skull To echo and overlap until they're dull To blend in with the hum inside the walls And I'm inviting you to be white noise.