Half of the decade trying to cope
More that I endure, the sparser the hope
So pry up the tiles
And gut out the floor
Found the foundations
Not safe anymore
And after the Lord speaks
Baby take me where the crowd don't run
And I find myself
Waiting filthy with a twisted tongue
And I hide everything in my head
And forget everyone that I've met
And I'll never be open again
Oh how good it must feel to not love anything
Half of the decade, caught in the rope
Fashion the headache, I'll be the host
And after the Lord speaks
Baby take me where the crowd don't run
And I find myself
Waiting filthy with a twisted tongue
And I hide everything in my head
And forget everyone that I've met
And I'll never be open again
Oh how good it must feel to not love anything
Oh how good it must feel to not love anything
Oh how good it must feel to not love anything
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