The Death of Me

This music'll be the death of me
I can't be what you want me to be
I can't see what you want me to see
So what's the point in being with me?
This music'll be the death of you
So don't do what it wants you to
Fly off and find something else
Because the songs'll always come first

I don't want to be recognized
I don't want to be sympathized
I don't need your love at all
Or your picture on my wall
Music - it ain't a gift
It's a habit that you just can't kick
It tortures you at night
It curses your whole life
You may find that it's cool at first
But you'll soon want to be reimbursed
When you write nine songs a day
You wish the melodies would just go away
But it's a pain that I like to feel
It tells me this life is real
Coz underneath all this crappiness
There's got to be some happiness

This music'll be the death of me
I can't be what you want me to be
I can't see what you want me to see
So what's the point in being with me?
This music'll be the death of you
So don't do what it wants you to
Fly off and find something else
Because the songs'll always come first

Is there a chance that I could lead a normal life
Getting away from all of this, doing ten hour shifts
I don't think I'd like to be part of a society
That thinks that paradise is just a feeling on a Saturday night

This music'll be the death of us
We'll do anything for a buzz
Lasting approximately
Three minutes forty-three
This music'll be the death of you
So don't do what it wants you to do
Just clear off and find something else
Because the songs'll always come first

Oh (Dada da, dada da, dada da, dada, lala la la, yeah)
(Darling, darling, oh)