I'm all kite-tails and marigolds, standing in the rain.
Come one; come all; all eyes and ears, come hither; come to me:
The man on stage, who shouts and sings as if he could prove something.
A falling leaf sat upon my neck, and whispered in my ear,
"Dying is half the fun of living, if the living's not in fear.
You can sing your days away, but they may never quite get why,
It is most sensible to smile and cry at the same time.
To wrap around your sorrow in a warm, welcome hug.
"Hate," is a strong word, but, darling, so is, "Love."
Both the children of passion, split by a thin, thin, line:
A tight-rope we all walk along, but some fall to either side.
'Cause you love to hate, and hate to love, and nothing in between.
Well, honey, that just means that you're the opposite of me.
'Cause I love to love, and, honestly, I couldn't hate a thing.
Let me correct myself: I love everyone in the world but me.
I'll change my head to a stepping stone for all to walk upon.
I'll hold you like the booths at church, and listen to your confession.
I'll wrap my arms into a cradle, warm, and rock you into sleep.
I'm singing this song with no guitar, so you'll just listen to me.
I pulled a needle from my arm in March, and haven't touched it since.
But, no matter what I do or say, I can't convince my friends of this.
'Cause you spread half-truths and rumors like door-to-door religion.
You speak of gossip and gospel as if you knew the fucking difference.
Now, I've got no God, no girl, no drugs, no drinks, no cash, no home, no car.
But, there's a circle of friends, all smiles and held-hands at apartment 1084.
So, I'll belt it out, an unfamiliar sound, the truth, how it reall is.
No, I'll just speak these next two lines all soft and slow, so you can let it sink in.
The difference between us, my friends, I can see it in your eyes:
You're glad that you're not dead yet, and I'm just happy to be alive.
The man on stage, who shouts and sings as if he could prove something.
A falling leaf sat upon my neck, and whispered in my ear,
"Dying is half the fun of living, if the living's not in fear.
You can sing your days away, but they may never quite get why,
It is most sensible to smile and cry at the same time.
To wrap around your sorrow in a warm, welcome hug.
"Hate," is a strong word, but, darling, so is, "Love."
Both the children of passion, split by a thin, thin, line:
A tight-rope we all walk along, but some fall to either side.
'Cause you love to hate, and hate to love, and nothing in between.
Well, honey, that just means that you're the opposite of me.
'Cause I love to love, and, honestly, I couldn't hate a thing.
Let me correct myself: I love everyone in the world but me.
I'll change my head to a stepping stone for all to walk upon.
I'll hold you like the booths at church, and listen to your confession.
I'll wrap my arms into a cradle, warm, and rock you into sleep.
I'm singing this song with no guitar, so you'll just listen to me.
I pulled a needle from my arm in March, and haven't touched it since.
But, no matter what I do or say, I can't convince my friends of this.
'Cause you spread half-truths and rumors like door-to-door religion.
You speak of gossip and gospel as if you knew the fucking difference.
Now, I've got no God, no girl, no drugs, no drinks, no cash, no home, no car.
But, there's a circle of friends, all smiles and held-hands at apartment 1084.
So, I'll belt it out, an unfamiliar sound, the truth, how it reall is.
No, I'll just speak these next two lines all soft and slow, so you can let it sink in.
The difference between us, my friends, I can see it in your eyes:
You're glad that you're not dead yet, and I'm just happy to be alive.