I've got an arsenal of daggers I've been keeping up my sleeve And the sharpest words are in my mouth Just kicking off my teeth
All good things end badly If they ever end at all But if everything's eventual Why should I stall?
Thoughts go in but they don't come out Until I'm talking in my sleep
(I'm not scared of being wrong No, I'm just scared of never being right)
All my friends are aching Over something in the way I am too but inevitably Everything is gonna be okay Whatever that means What the fuck does that mean?
And the trash can is filled to the brim With coffee filters and apple cores And the bottom is lined with broken glass From allegories and metaphors That don't help anybody anyway