Well I don't mean anything 'Cause it makes no difference You shake your head again As I try to make ammends Well I know I've got a gift for over-analysis Don't you know me? I'll try to make it fit but I'll make a mess of it
You say there's nothing to it, that the music is sometimes wrong But the stars predict that I'll be tricked oh
Break my bones and string me along But I still go on til I've got nothing left inside A waste of time or a grand design? Oh never mind, 'cause I've got no more pride to swallow now
I don't mean to make a fuss but you're meant to be helping us Don't you know me? I'll add the numbers up but I always get too much
You say there's nothing to it, that the music is sometimes wrong But the stars predict that I'll be tricked
Break my bones and string me along But I still go on til I've got nothing left inside A waste of time or a grand design? Oh never mind, coz I've got no more pride to swallow now And I don't know why I should bother if you see black and white not colour Don't you see that I don't care if you don't want me there?
Will I ever find something better to fill my time? Well I've never tried but I'd be so very far behind I'm gonna draw a line and try to cross it by January I'm running out of time but I've come so many miles and miles with all these things that I do It's all I can do
Compositores: Robert James Smith (Robert Smith), Mark Treasure (Ghosts), Edward Jonathan Harris (Jonny Harris), Simon Maynard Pettigrew (Simon Pettigrew) ECAD: Obra #2441001