Tekster: Blueline Medic. The Apology Wars. Up Against The Fault.

No call this morning
No sleep at all
Not getting any answers searching through telephones
Oh absence, take form
Half cold in a king size dawn
Breaking still despite the holding on

Someone tell me, what am I doing wrong?

Clothes I can throw away
Hair I can cut, strip or stain
Moods I promise to turn like corners and get out of my own way
But on what chance can this stand?
With what, half a heart in some desperate plan
I don't know who it is I'm up against

Someone tell me, where am I going wrong?

You're keeping me close and against and I think to a fault
I'll have to do something

Each blazing morning
Burns a little slow
Is there something need telling?
Some good that I'm not doing?
Provide some helpful point upon which I could fall
Or don't suggest anything
It's probably nothing

It's nothing if no one can see that there's anything wrong