My hands don't work
My words just let me down
My throat's too dry
And I got my dinner all down my shirt
Pull us back from this next verse I don't wanna die
Pull us back from the page that shows the facts of life
My plans all have more holes than any sponge
And my shirts all bears the scars
Of all my misses off at lunch
Pull us back from this next fog I don't wanna die
Pull us back from this killing cloud, I don't want what's mine
You throw me in at the deep end with no alibi
And slide me sideways to the shelter of my easy, boring life