How can you think when you're talking into your own ears,
When the days run into one, but you're clutching onto 'Pinkerton',
And all you need is a charming man or two or three,
To forget you're not to bother anyway?
Is it the waves that stop you from flying out across the sea?
No, the skies must be your cage. They conspire to keep your feet in place.
You'll see one day, if you've opened up your eyes by then,
That a story's not a story until it ends.
I could be your diary if you would just confide.
A record doesn't listen; it just speaks in repetition then dies.
Oh well, I guess I'll see you at 'Green'.
Your life is fine, or it was until you got off track.
In a matter of an instance, you've tumbled foul of hopelessness,
Just rest assured though you might fall and skin your knee, you'll see,
That's not the kind of girl you'd want to be.
And yet, in your dreams it's much safer that you take a chance,
And awake back in your bed where you've evaded all the consequences.
How cool is that, girl? But it won't get you to where you want,
But to you it's overrated. Happiness.