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