Clasped hands in the front of my sweatshirt
I carry pens and half of them work
Many thoughts and most of them make sense
At least half of them
Limp limericks never impressed her
Pitiful poems, she couldn't care less
Vapid verses never warranted her applause
Thought you woulda noticed by now
(By now)
My problems get worse, every single day
(Get worse)
And when I get new ones, the old ones never go away