There's a fight in the kitchen and
It sounds like a good one, an old one
Tried and true
I'm a kid in my room trying to drown in a book
But it's not working 'cause the pages are too quiet and your words are so loud
They make me sick so I
Close my eyes and go down
To the place where the shouts
Are nothing but strings of syllables and sound
Syllables and sound
Roots of words like weeds that hold down the ground