Small -
Tomb
One of these days you're gonna get what's coming to you
Boxes full of wine
Hollywood moonlight
One of these days I'm gonna play the winning hand and bite the one that feeds
Rain to my parade
Throwing shadows in my shade
I wear a wreath made of words
Of all that I have heard
Everything I've loved
And all that I have cursed
She said, have you ever wished that things would stop
I know I've got the right key, but I can't find the perfect lock
Straying from the line
Inches at a time
I've picked my poisons, and you've picked yours, isn't that enough
But if you think that everything is fine then you're out of luck
Never go too far
Why is it so hard
In my tomb I find some rest
Delicate at best
I do not expect
For you to be impressed
No sweet home like you
Baby it's the truth
Feeling something new
A lovely sort of hue
Old clothes and the canopy
Restless nights keep taking me
Trying to trick myself to believe
What will be, will be if I fall asleep
Sun coming through my window pane
Trace the shadows up your arm to your face
Summer lawns and knives feel the same
Either way I'm sleeping on blades
No sweet home to come to
Boxes full of wine
Hollywood moonlight
One of these days I'm gonna play the winning hand and bite the one that feeds
Rain to my parade
Throwing shadows in my shade
I wear a wreath made of words
Of all that I have heard
Everything I've loved
And all that I have cursed
She said, have you ever wished that things would stop
I know I've got the right key, but I can't find the perfect lock
Straying from the line
Inches at a time
I've picked my poisons, and you've picked yours, isn't that enough
But if you think that everything is fine then you're out of luck
Never go too far
Why is it so hard
In my tomb I find some rest
Delicate at best
I do not expect
For you to be impressed
No sweet home like you
Baby it's the truth
Feeling something new
A lovely sort of hue
Old clothes and the canopy
Restless nights keep taking me
Trying to trick myself to believe
What will be, will be if I fall asleep
Sun coming through my window pane
Trace the shadows up your arm to your face
Summer lawns and knives feel the same
Either way I'm sleeping on blades
No sweet home to come to
Credits
Writer(s): Small
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