My aching heart’s on Medicare
I take it with me everywhere
Like dirty socks and underwear
Underneath my clothes

I keep it safely locked away
Inside my secret dossier
There’s so much heart break on display
Behind tear-frosted glass

I hold my tongue and count to three
Chatterboxes suffer ‘cause they cannot see
Directly through their eyes
They’re shuttered up

Bla bla bla
Yap yap bladibla
Yakety yak ladida

Still looking for that proper noun
That’s slightly more than just a sound
The very thing that keeps me down
Is the claptrap in my brain

Let me mumble, let me be
I will not be ensnared in your verbosity
Go on and frame your heart
Cut it out


Guess we’re all just salesmen, slick and smooth
Selling junk to gain its revenue
Sometimes my back is bent
Shopping for blues
But when the neon’s gone
I feel like a fool