The crows came in,
To watch us die,
Pretending to be friends of mine,
And I don't think I like them anymore.
The clock goes off,
It's close to 8.
I'm waking up alone today.
And I don't think I like this anymore.
She said, "Baby, you know,
Our seams are starting to show (?),
But if you wash your hands of me,
Things will never be the way they're supposed to be."
So we drove off, to New Orleans,
To paint their wreck with the songs we'd sing,
For nothing more than payment with a smile.
And the clock goes off,
It's close to 8,
And she's waking up alone today.
And I don't think she likes me anymore.
And I said, "Baby, you know,
You shoulda walked out long ago.
But if you wash your hands of me,
Well things will never be the way they're supposed to be."
And I said, "Baby you know,
The seams are starting to show.
But if you wash your hands of me,
Things will never be the way,
No, they'll never be the way,
Oh, they'll never be the way they're supposed to be."
