Where would he go for fun in this town?
How would he sit and bookend days?
No, I don't need the poetry
More than a moment could upset the need
Console for the love, but the love belongs to me
The light, the light, the light, the light
The light, the light, the light, the light that finds me
The light, the light, the light, the light
The light, the light, the light, the light that finds me
Mother, I feel the crowds on the turn
Took out the windows
Moved the stairs
And I don't need the comedy
Holding the door to my own tragedy
Take blame for the hurt but the hurt belongs to me
The light, the light, the light, the light
The light, the light, the light, the light that finds me
The light, the light, the light, the light
The light, the light, the light, the light that finds me
You must die a little
You must exercise
You must die a little
Bury the keys and get to work
You must die a little
You must exercise
You must die a little
You must hate yourself
You must die a little
You must die a little
You must die a little
Bury the keys and get to work
