Lyrics:

I was thinking of my mother,
I was making up excuses,
I was sorry, sore, no intimacy.
Cradlecap and funny sports and thin.
I miss my daughter's breath.
What really sticks it in
are the cold spots in the bed.

Like everybody in the world,
I want to be misunderstood.
Likable, creepy,
underrated, braggart,
busy, really good.
It's weary progress.

I yell, I get frustrated, I scream.
Drunk brother painting bare rooms.
Christmas trees are scary things at 2 a.m and
foolish lips are all the way in Boston,
but they're sounding pretty good.

Like everybody in the world, I want to be
misunderstood.
Likable, creepy,
underrated, braggart,
busy, really good.
It's weary progress.
New End Original Weary Progress