i thought you would be, insane at twenty-three.
now, i'm that weirdo screaming on the train.
you're setting fires inside my head.
i'd like to believe you.
it's not arson, maybe just a warm goodbye for me.
it's cold inside my heart, cold, dark, and crazy.
sweater weather for you, and a straightjacket for me.
head down, hands tied, dreaming only of you.
who can rescue me from this padded room.
if i got my mouth on some cyanide, or a shotgun, maybe i'd survive.
head down, hands tied, dreaming only of you.
who can rescue me from this padded room.
and our get-away car is parked outside.
i'll ride shotgun, baby, you can drive.