I'm sorry that your dad's dead
I hope you amend it
I think I've lost a lot of my friends
Through belief that I'm an instrument
And fuck me if you must then
Treat me like an old friend
I can't exist within my own head
So I insist on haunting your bed
If you could only hear what I said
You'd see
I'm not scared
Spin your car around, put your head down
And smash into the ground with you
There's been a piece of glass found in a terrible sound
What if they say it's true?
Oh I prefer it in your bed, television set