Most of the Days

1, 2, 3 1, 2 Yeah I'm so sick and tired, of paying my bills, And having to scrape off of nothing. Yeah, I want that guitar, and I want some new clothes, 'Cause nothing I own, feels like me anymore. But that's not to say I know who I am, Fact I feel farthest from it, but I learn what I can. Yeah, I want all my time to sit and write songs, But there's so fucking much else, I'm taking care of. Yeah, I've got a feelin', I'll bleed you out dry, That all of my baggage, will cost you your life. 'Cause I'll paint you a picture, of the centre of my world, It looks like the whole of it, it's always been small. Think I'd like to be who my dog thinks I am, Devoid of worries, loving and kind. As much as I'd like to be made out of love, Have a soul that is infinite, giving its all. Truth is that most of the days I'm not tall, I'm just small and there isn't much to give at all.