I'm looking more like my mother
I was so staggering waiting for you
It does no good to talk about anything
It does no good to tell you I'm a wounded fiend
It's not the things we discover, it's in the way we try to cover with ground
I'm not a flat fingered dullard I was so sure and never right
I was a tongue that's telling you that somebody else is trying
And I got no feeling about it at all
In this old season of doubt and love
I could fall backwards forever
I could be boxed inside
I got no use in talking about anything
And I could tell you it seems to be a haunting me
Whooooa
