We must've spun around about 78 times
The morning was a majestic disaster
Broken glass on the floor,
Paired with fallen curtains,
Scattered reading material,
Chocolate wrappers all over the rug

There was a sense of expired enjoyment
All over the living room
My eyes were all beat up
And the pain laid quietly beneath them

There was a tremble in my hands
All I could think about was
The window that doesn't open
Sean Daley's depression as a happy mess
Knowing today needed a mute button