Feel-in TypeI feel more from a photograph than I do from a handI feel more from this recorded voice than from the one in my earI feel more when I see someone else entwined than when I'm wrapped in limbs myselfSo much of my life leaves meColdThat can't be rightCan it?It's too hard to narrow downBut thinking hardScrawling ink across the Sunday papersAgainI think I'm boredI think I'm tiredI'm so tired of my generationSo I'm stepping up a few decadesThe only way I know howI'm sick of my generationSo I'm joining their'sWell, shit.
Cover With Your HandI've always been one to sayThat words are more importantThan actionsBut it's at moments like thisCrumbling under the weight of my own mindWhere I would give anythingTo feel your hand on my shoulder.
The MovementOnce in a whileI find a copy on my deskOf some popular music magazineKerrang, Q or NMEThough I might like the bandsWhen I flick through the pagesInevitably facedWith photos of the crowdAt this weeks must see showWell, more often than notHundreds of faces stare backPosing in formationPouting en masseOr, should they dare to break formFlaunting their 'moves'And, to be frankI'm sick of the sight of itSick of the feel of itIt's followings like thisThat can kill the bestI've grown tired of concertsWhere I can't see for the sceneGive me any dayA folkieAn old manA socialistAnyone who sharesSomeone
The Tiny Little ThingsIt's the tiniest thingsThat make my dayAnd it's the simplest thingsThat make me laughAnd get me through another late night hour of workingEvery song that sadly made me think of you beforeNow does the same, but happilyWell, maybe my mood's a little too easy to switchBut it doesn't work with everyoneAnd yes, when I'm feeling grouchyI still feel a little bitterThat you didn't wish me happy birthday this yearIt's the tiniest thingsThat make me questionThe biggest thingsI'd never mention any of themTo anyoneBecause really I know they're irrelevantBut I look for little things to blameThe truth isYou're still
You Know WhyYou know whyIt takes an hour to get out of bed some mornings,And you know whyI hate undressing near mirrors,You know whyI haven't left the house in fifty four hours,And you know whyI keep a rolled bandana on my person at all times,I just need to do the addition.
Sta.sh
