Why would I want to fly Be on the last red eye Talking to your voice, only hearing noise Oh, it's not enough All of the nights I spent Drowning my discontent Wasting me away, everything is chang

Sunday mornings were your favorite I used to meet you down on Woods Creek Road You did your hair up like you were famous Even though it's only church where we were going Now Sunday mornings, I jus

If I could count the stupid things I do For you or just for a taste I'd make it to a million just to realize It was all just a chase Oh, what a waste And now I hope you know what you've done I