Tell them you hate the Sun

The urge to run away
To be anyone but yourself
I'm a junkie made of clay
The self deprecate's not well

If you asked him
He'd tell you that he's rich

There's something on the hill
Taking your breath away

If you asked him
He'd tell you that he's sick

And if they ask you
Why you don't go outside
Tell them you hate the sun

Your friends are all eighteen
Dying to leave you behind
In a country made of dirt
Acting like you're blind

If you ask him
He'd tell you that he's never cried

You're scared of being alive
In a place that knows your name

If you ask him
He's always going to lie

And if they ask you
Why you don't go outside
Tell them you hate the sun



Credits
Writer(s): Joe O Brien
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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