You're biting your nails.
I'm biting my tounge.
I'd show you the way, but you always say thats half of the fun.
You're leaving today...
I'm staying put.
I'd follow you there but I would just tangle you into a rut...
I'd comb all your hair but I would just tangle you into the brush...
I'll stay away from smokers, and everything unclear...
At least just long enough to let you interfere.
The lines are blurred, by the beast we stear.
Is there an end? Or on and on?
You swallow the nails.
I'll swallow my tounge.
I'll say that you're right but only so I can begin moving on.
Heres hoping the knight will just go for the king and ride right past the pawn.
I'll say a prayer for drinkers and the things they hold dear.
It's always harder letting go this time of year.
The lines are blurred by the beast we fear...
Is there an end? or on and on?