The mess in here is a metaphor the way sleep yields dreams because without it this song would be a figment of my imagination and i would just be clean. I can’t be rescued from the empty shopping bags and dust and these feelings are homing in and i must give them a play. I’ll spin them out like your records left discarded on the floor when we upped the rpm to something more. And the emotions spun out of control and the bodies fit like a needle in the groove and after it was all over we couldn’t even muster up the strength to move. There’s still no blinds for my windows because i don’t like to cover up at all, i’d rather everyone see in past my walls. I’m always illuminated and the sunlight is unescapable and i always have a full view of the moon. It’s full like eyes brimming with tears after another friday night spent alone with our phones. And our voices darted past telephone poles so our brutal remarks could hit home. My fear of you is a tell tale sign that everything’s is just fine, but my running away is an end not a means, and heartbreak lies inbetween. But i keep putting one foot in front of the other and soon i’ll be disappearing from sight – just another blemish on your vast horizon i will do my best to disappear into the night. And our emotions spun out of control and the bodies fit like a needle in the groove and after it was all over we couldn’t even muster up the strength to move. The mess in here is a metaphor and my sleep yields dreams without them this songs would be a figment of my imagination and i would come out clean.