Living with the irony of sleeping above a mortuary
And as we lay in bed I can see my breath
Colder than the dead underneath me

Until she goes
Weary arms around guts wrenching
She said that I am full of it
But I'm in love with you much more than me

What is normal anyway?
Is it normal to be glad at all?
So it goes
Tuck us in and all turn away

Cracks in the windows
And no lease or proof
Call in on your way back home
We're number 22