I'm sorry that your dad's dead I hope you amend it I think I've lost a lot of my friends Through belief that I'm an instrument And fuck me if you must then Treat me like an old friend I can't exist within my own head So I insist on haunting your bed If you could only hear what I said You'd see
I'm not scared
Spin your car around, put your head down And smash into the ground with you There's been a piece of glass found in a terrible sound What if they say it's true? Oh I prefer it in your bed, television set