Running out of breath Chasing down the big parade, Rising up my hand, Thought beg the marching band to play, for me of these illusions, They really mean the world to me
Don't make me out to be this helpless child of misery, Maybe love is what I But not your sympathy
In and out of space, always somewhere in between, I try to make commands But instead I make a mess things, for me
I try paint by numbers, But nothing's black and white to me
Don't make me out to be this helpless child of misery, Maybe is what I need But not your sympathy
Nothing and one can make your lies the truth, and no one can stand inside your shoes but you
Don't make out to be this helpless child misery, Maybe love is what I But not your sympathy But not your sympathy