Tiny Moving Parts Headache
Lets turn back the clock
And do this one more time
It's so hard
Finding a purpose in my emptiness
'Cause I am an icicle
You are the summer heat
A language
That I could barely speak
There is a headache in my head
A pulse in my brain
Nothing will ever change (or make sense)
There's nothing at all
There's nothing at all (nothing at all)
I prefer this
Weight on my chest
There's nothing at all
There's nothing at all
Such slim comfort buried in
Old pictures (this couch is not as long as I remember)
This couch is not as long as I remember
A different shape, out of place
A different pace
Such sudden news
That my body can't shake
'Cause my stomach won't stomach the taste
Will you hold me like a baby?
And tell me the things I need to know
I never want to be alone
There is a headache in my head
A pulse in my brain
Nothing will ever change (or make sense)
There's nothing at all
There's nothing at all (nothing at all)
There's nothing at all
There's nothing at all
I prefer this weight on my chest
There's nothing at all
There's nothing at all (there's nothing at all)
I prefer this laying on my chest
There's nothing at all
