I’m not staying up
To do enough
Or leaving much at all
And it’s not slight enough
To be slept off
Or be forgotten at all
And if it were up to me
I’d say it loud
Posthumously
Cause I’m not capable
Of much at all
No not at all it seems
I’m still straining to make out
The painting from your parent’s house
Whilst lying sleepless face down on the couch it wears me out
And somehow I’m still only half inclined to work it out
And remain unchanged forever on the edge or thereabouts
I’m still straining to make out
The painting from your parent’s house
Whilst lying sleepless face down on the couch it wears me out
And I know I’m still only half inclined to work it out
What a way to spend forever on the edge or thereabouts
