It’s not me, it’s you.
Actually, it’s the taxidermy of you and me.
Untie the balloons around my neck and around me.
I’m just a racehorse on the track.
Send me back to the glue factory.
Always thought I’d float away.
And never come back.
But I’ve got enough miles on my card.
To fly the boys home on my own.
But you know me: I like being all alone.
And keeping you all alone.
The charts are boring.
Your kids are snoring.
You say you’re not listening and I said I’m wishing…
