It's a young Friday night
And I'm filled up to the brim
With an old, old feeling

That can't be turned into
But maybe a letter of resignation
If you frame it

I left it burning on your wall
She asks you, "What's wrong?"
You say "Nothing, it's nothing"

"Baby what's wrong?"
You say "Nothing, it's nothing"


It's nothing at all
It's just the pressure with which you hold her
It's really nothing at all

It's just some dandruff on your shoulder
It's just that every moment
Casts a shadow, a sadness

Of it's not being something else
Other than itself


She asks you, "What's wrong?"
You say "Nothing, it's nothing"
"Baby what's wrong?"

You say "Nothing, it's nothing"

It's nothing


It's nothing


It's nothing

Uuuu