Well Well Well How the Turntables...

When did these bruises start to keep me from moving

It's been two months and I can't remember

What it is I've done right

Where's the wavelength that I'm supposed to be on?

I think I fell off of it a very long time ago

What's the point of this heart-to-heart

If we're both crossing our arms

My gaze left the window pane

My wrists laid in white and red

Last time I checked, this was all on my neck, but blame's a fucking funny thing

The first time I was lost

Was midday in a small place

I looked nowhere

Everywhere I swear

Nine years later I'm still lost, and I never got home

If I could I would bring myself home, but home is anywhere, but here

Anywhere, but here