The brokenhearted break their bones up into bread
Then ball it up and stuff it in the holes
In the sides of their heads.
To stop the sound you stop the source
Or is it the other way around?
To stop the source you stop the sound
My bones are brittle
And i'm a little dry at the joints between them.
Pushing the choke in my throat down
I told you id go down
But you don't know, you never know.
The open hearted make such a mess of themselves.
The emptyhanded are pulling all the sparks
Right out from under their wheels.
To stop, to stop, to throw off course
Of course i know how easy for all those
Who need and take and go.
My bones are brittle
And i'm a little tired of sitting and getting fat.
We all should close up
If we are sealing up enough
Then we are feeling nothing
Feeling nothing
Feeling nothing.
