Throwing Muses No Parachutes
Pushing a ribcage Makes it hard to breathe And yet we hold our sweaty hands Year after year Some new year Without music in our head Newspaper tenement coming up dead So my paracute is hanging around I guess I bust it on the ground Nothing helps me fall Nothing helps me float Today I want to walk away Pushing a ribcage Makes it hard to breathe And yet we whisper in the dark Year after year Some new year Without newness in our head Newspaper tenement coming up dead So my paracute is hanging around I guess I bust it on the ground Nothing helps me fall Nothing helps me float Today I want to walk away
