Got this feeling that today doesn't like me.
The air tastes like flowers and paint.
There's a sink full of bottles and cutlery,
and the car's got a list of complaints.
I just wish I were a toothbrush or a solder gun.
Make me something somebody can use.

We can wish on the pop of a lightbulb,
or those photos, lying yellow and curled,
loose in boxes near abandoned electronics
in the corners of the basements of the world.
Guess our wishes don't do dishes or brake repairs.
Make them something somebody can use.

Got a face full of ominous weather.
Smirking smile of a high pressure ridge.
Got more faults than the state of California,
and the heart is a badly built bridge.
Seems the most I have to offer doesn't offer much.
Make it something somebody can use.
Make this something somebody can use.