Take the splinter from the tambourine and split the skin to feel something.
I'm not alone in drowning out the things I hate to talk about,
well, oh, no: it’s too late to let the feelings
truly show.
 
Come, walk with me,
come, talk with me.
How can I realign the avenues of better times?
When will I cease   fucking up endlessly?
 
The sharpened teeth and roots of memories came too late for me
to see the cast is blind. And searching for a light
switch in the dark,   then got tangled
in the strings of the heart.
 
come, talk with me.
How can I renovate the foolish motives of lost debates?
When will I case   fucking up endlessly?
 
Come, walk with me,
come, talk with me.
How can I renovate the foolish motives of lost debates?
When will I case fucking up endlessly?