Skin-

ny

jeans

on

the

bench

press

You

burn

the

candle

at

both

ends

If

a-

ny-

one

asks

why

Then they're

not

worth

your

time

Why

am

I

so

out

of

breath

Club

sand-

wich

pressed

in

north

end

Grittled

shank

on

rye

A gun-

shot

at

half

time

A

du-

ra-

tion

of

the

mys

-

tic

land

that

I

give

me

Who

was

that

man?

A

woo-

ly

pi-

cket

line

In-

tes-

ti-

nal

red

wine

Now

it's

hard

not

to

sus-

pect

Your

ly-

ing

tell

is

ba

-

ted

breath

I

in-

hale

for

sus-

pense

You

trig-

gered

my

ma-

mma-

li-

an

sighing

ref-

lex

So

I

take

e-

ve-

ry-

thing

as

a

les-

son

Some-

thing

trained

out

of

my-

self

With

mind-

less

self-

in-

dul-

ging

con-

fi-

dence

In-

dulge

me

in

what-

ev-

er

quick

re-

lease

I

could

mus-

ter

So-

cial

me-

dia,

car-

bo-

hyd-

rates

and

can-

na-

bis,

the

world

was

my

oys-

ter

And

I

was

the

knight

by

which

they

duck

But

now

he's

dead,

he's

gone

I

fu-

cking

start

a-

new

I'm

a

de-

ve-

lopmen-

tal

beast,

wrong

ver-

sion

of

my-

self

Six-

teen

bed-

rooms

Six-

teen

bed-

rooms

Six-

teen

fridges

64-

bit

com-

pu-

ters

Fif-

teen

of

them

Oh

how

nice

it

must

be

To

feel

so

bored

I

just

need

to

find

Some-

one

to

tell

me

I'm

just

tired