We were walking,
I was dead.
Couldn't move my mind

off of what was just said.
"What if hereon
I do my best?"

She said, "Oh honey,"
and I knew the rest.


Why does life hand me
lemons each time?
Do I look at it wrong?

Do I warp my mind?
Hip-hip-hooray!
I'm sailing some day

and leaving this all behind
for a brand new way.


But my tongue's on fire
and my eyes are smoking too;
I'm on a funeral pyre

lying next to you,
lying next to you,
lying next next to you, you.


We were talking
about my head.

"Boy it's certainly weird."
"Yeah, but it's my bed."
Every day I'm afraid

my groove's gone,
so lock me away
in a room for kevala

where I'll rock and decay.

But my heart's on fire

and my eyes are smoking too;
I'm on a funeral pyre
lying next to you.


And my heart is burning,
and my brain is smoldering;

I'm on a funeral pyre,
you're lying next to me,
you're lying next to me,

you're lying next to me, me.