I sit at my desk and think of things to write But they're not words they're little rats I crawl with them through the cracks in the pavement We've found ways of getting through
Alone With ticking clocks in my head We're on the phone And smiling with my every lie
Lodged in the asbestos With my dirty little rats I found the word that I've been looking for (But I forgot so all this it's) And when I get back, I will let you know how things went
Alone With ticking clocks in my head We're on the phone And smiling with my every lie
Alone With ticking clocks in my head We're on the phone And smiling with my every lie
I left my bike outside so long, it rusted; now it won't ride All those things I said I'd do I promised (I promised), I guess I lied And the rats I'm sure they're dead (everything is dead); I've packed them six feet under Surfacing like water, like spit
