Из альбома: Future Isms

I don't sleep and i don't eat.
Fall asleep on my feet.
These are desperate times:

Locked myself in a box again.
Convinced myself that a set of keys were friends.

I don't talk in my sleep to make conversation.
And I wish you wouldn't listen,
And I wish I didn't know.
I wish I knew how little you can give before you gave yourself away.
I'm going on strike until conditions improve.

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