My Rusted Armor
I'm addicted to the thoughts in my head
And I have to will my way out of bed
I never learned to finish a goddamn thing
On the day that I die, I might forget my wings
I've got a plastic little box in my chest
I've got a rusty coat of armor covering the rest
I've got no cells in my brain left to process
I've got a lag in my everyday footsteps
What the hell is wrong with me?
What the hell is wrong with me?
My memory serves me like a dropped phone call
Feels like I'm sippin a drink through a paper straw
Am I a narcissist or just an American?
At the end of the day, what's the difference?
I've got a plastic little box in my chest
I hope the bags under my eyes start to weigh less
I know I need to get myself back in real shape
But I can never seem to make it past the front gate
What the hell is wrong with me?
What the hell is wrong with me?
I'm paranoid of all this noise
I was once a wicked boy
What the hell is wrong with me?
I've got a plastic little box in my chest
I've got a rusty coat of armor covering the rest
I've got no cells in my brain left to process
I've got a lag in my everyday footsteps
I've got a plastic little box in my chest
I hope the bags under my eyes start to weigh less
I know I need to get myself back in real shape
But I can never seem to make it past the front gate
What the hell is wrong with me?
What the hell is wrong with me?
Big ideas, forever stalled
Sertraline and alcohol
What the hell is wrong with me?
And I have to will my way out of bed
I never learned to finish a goddamn thing
On the day that I die, I might forget my wings
I've got a plastic little box in my chest
I've got a rusty coat of armor covering the rest
I've got no cells in my brain left to process
I've got a lag in my everyday footsteps
What the hell is wrong with me?
What the hell is wrong with me?
My memory serves me like a dropped phone call
Feels like I'm sippin a drink through a paper straw
Am I a narcissist or just an American?
At the end of the day, what's the difference?
I've got a plastic little box in my chest
I hope the bags under my eyes start to weigh less
I know I need to get myself back in real shape
But I can never seem to make it past the front gate
What the hell is wrong with me?
What the hell is wrong with me?
I'm paranoid of all this noise
I was once a wicked boy
What the hell is wrong with me?
I've got a plastic little box in my chest
I've got a rusty coat of armor covering the rest
I've got no cells in my brain left to process
I've got a lag in my everyday footsteps
I've got a plastic little box in my chest
I hope the bags under my eyes start to weigh less
I know I need to get myself back in real shape
But I can never seem to make it past the front gate
What the hell is wrong with me?
What the hell is wrong with me?
Big ideas, forever stalled
Sertraline and alcohol
What the hell is wrong with me?
Credits
Writer(s): T.j. Foster
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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