Insides

I'll be a player be a jester with the crowd or magician with his cards
Look the other way
Put my hands up do a silly face
Misdirection is the greatest way of convincing the crowd that everything is ok

I'll be a puppet, pull my strings each way and poke out all my brains
I don't mind about my insides
As long as you feel fine
Leave me broken and sagging on the shelf
Poke my bloody eyes out if it helps

I'll be the old man, bring a smile to the table and drum the air in time
And spill red wine on everything in sight
Behind those glasses, those gentle eyes
So sweet and blue and all kinds of kind
If I have half those eyes, I reckon we'll be fine

I'll be a punching bag, hooks, jabs to my cheekbones I won't sag
My skins tight I'm high above the ground swaying back and forth and up and down
From this height it looks like you could do to win this fight
I take all your punches
They're the kind of bruises that I like

I'll be alright
If you're alright



Credits
Writer(s): Mitchell Summers
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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