I'm becoming over exposed like a photograph at the edge of your toes. Waithing to be picked up, and stuck up on you bedroom wall. And as the bluetac fades away, along with the photograph one might say. That it's all over, the well is dry, mouthes are shut and arms are tied.

What can I say this is where I want to stay, taking time, trying to find, a cheaper way to spend my time. And you'll say its not enough.

And as the needle plays the tune, the guitar chords cry out to you. Speaking in all honesty, thoughts you can't deny. How's it feel inside?

What can I say this is where I want to stay, taking time, trying to find, a cheaper way to spend my time. And you'll say its not enough.