| Your heart’s made out of metal |
| It’s pumping out pure lead |
| And it’s trying to pretend |
| That it’s made out of flesh |
| Your fingers fall apart |
| Because they’re made of stone |
| And you called me to ask |
| If this is what it’s like letting go |
| And you trace my body shape and say how nice it would be to be human |
| And I am asleep in my dreams thinking how nice it would be to be anything else |
| My head is in my hands |
| I try to make sense of it all |
| And you say this is beautiful |
| As you look at the dead end of the hall |
| We are sitting in the corner |
| Listening to the pitches of their voices |
| And your ears start growing flowers |
| And you tear them apart to hear the noises |
| And you trace my body shape and say how nice it would be to be human |
| And I am asleep in my dreams thinking how nice it would be to be anything else |
| And you trace my body shape and say how nice it would be to be human |
| And I yell at you in my sleep screaming how nice it would be to stop being |
| And you trace my body shape and say how nice it would be to be human |
| And I wake up in my sheets just another morning as a human being |
| And you trace my body shape and say how nice it would be to be human |
| And I take the train thinking how nice it would be to be anything else |