It’s the mosquito in my ear
begging and begging and begging
To finally die as I hold it wings
and it gorges herself on blood

It’s an excuse
A facade
There’s a itch in my jaws
and a lump in my bones
and I’ll keep scratching into viscera
Citing bites and weather and dengue fever

We’re sick sick sick to the core
Mundane and boring and normal
I’m sick sick sick of walking
And never dreaming about more

I better ace that interview
I better ace that interview
I’m never better than I think I am
I better ace that interview

Riddle me this oh superstar
What do you do when you loose your car
When you’re left with your two feet deep in a ditch
When you never even left the start

My paint only dries when I’m all alone
The varnish only yellows when I talk
The only hands I hold are the one on a clock
With my glass slipper crushed on the rocks