We take sour sips from life's lush lips
And we shake, shake, shake the hips in relationships
Stop by this disaster town
You'll put your eyes to the sun and say "I know"
You're only blinding to keep back what the clouds are hiding
And we might have started singing just a little soon
We're throwing stones in a glass room.
Whoa, its a miserable story
Whoa, far from the genuine becoming
We keep the beat
With your blistered feet
We bullet the words at the mockingbirds, singing
Slept through the weekend, and dreamed
We're just sinking with the melody of the kiss of eternity
Your pulse called from a pharmacy saying "how you been?"
We might of said goodbyes just a little soon
(Stop by this disaster town)
Our beliefs of kissing beats over this room
Whoa, Its a miserable story
Whoa, far from the genuine becoming
Whoa, Its a miserable story
Whoa, far from the genuine becoming
It was icecream headaches and sweet avalanche
When the pearls in our shells came out to dance
You call me a bad tipper of the cradle.
But I'm tired yawns for fawns on hunters lawns.
We're the hasbeens of husbands- sharpening the knives of young wives.
Take two years and call me when you're better...
Take yourself apart, find yourself with love
Whoa, its a Miserable Story,
Whoa, far from the genuine becoming.
Whoa, its a miserable story,
Whoa, far from the genuine becoming.
