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