Suitcase Full Of Money

I'll trade my bad posture for your sense of nothingness and yes, I will prevail...

I slept in my clothes yet again to the sound of you calling me friend, kept my hands to myself.

And I wander so aimlessly now, finding silver spoons that fell from your mouth, when it feels like limbo,

or empty bottles smashing on my head,

I'm glad it taste's like candy taste's like light bulbs, now that your love's dead, and it almost feel's okay.

My fingernails will bleed no more, I wont poor salt in open sores, my lips wont work to make words hurt, my collar wont smell of dirty earth,

you don't know where she's going half the time, if she's dressed like heaven, are her sins forgiven,

With no directions, ill ask no questions, affection is for the weak.

I'm glad it taste like aspirin, taste like varnish now that your love's dead and it almost feel's okay.

Only in photograph's, were we ever in love and it hardly feels enough, and I don't know where to go (where to go) yeah where am I going now? (going now).

So call me up when those bibles burn, yeah cheer them on when they get their turn to find out and fall out, a tea spoon of failure.

It almost feels okay But hey! where do we go?

What am I thinking, nobody knows and ill figure it out, so see you around, with your head in the clouds and worrying about, what will you wear?

what if nobody cares? no one will care.