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Lyrics
Lined up where the sanity stops
and you and I begin,
My past crimes stand like housewives
as the new slight stumbles in.
And it's wrong to blame specific aches
for a general state of sore,
When all you need is less of me,
And all I've got is more.
It's your turn,
It's fucked up anyway.
It doesn't matter why.
It doesn't matter what I have to say.
We skated on the all and all,
Arm in arm,
Untill we carved it away.
We cut the sit-com down to one thin line,
It's where you smile while you say,
"Sometimes,
terra cotta's just clay."
You said, "Sometimes,
terra cotta's just clay."
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