Another cliche line for another cliche song.
I chewed it up and spit it out.
I guess that's all my fault.
But even with a second chance, I couldn't get it right.
"Take it down a notch," they say.
It's times like this that burn out my insides.

Oh, I wish I had an answer to all the things I never wanted to know.
I could choke on a "goodnight."
My instincts are a state of mind.
I blame myself for trying not to care too much.

Did my words bring a headache yet?
'Cos a heartache's all I know.
Kill them softly, it's alright--they'll never notice
something feels so wrong here
and everything's been burned out in the ashtray.
A dead cigarette is my mind.

I'm still wondering if you'll bother to find me
but I think my imagination's overworked again, again.

Oh, I wish I had an answer to all the things I never wanted to know.
I could choke on a "goodnight."
My instincts are a state of mind.
I blame myself for trying not to care too much.

I'm losing everything I wanted.
Weeks go by and changes come too slow.
I could choke on a "goodbye."
My instincts lost their state of mind.
I wish I never had to leave this place I call home.