Between ill postures, one's old another stooped
A case to keep my neck held straight, and my bones they won't pull through.
And you fill me with plastic, say it's from the sea
But the only thing I know are things that I can't see
It takes a bit of time before it becomes a mess
If you are to lose, but you ought to choose
Sensation story, which turned out true
You tell me this part is simple and there's things that I can't do
Quit the messing around look beyond the page
Please cut me off I tell you these things they don't ever change
And it takes a bit of time before it becomes a mess again
If you are to lose, but you ought to choose
And if I wake up feeling blue again
But you are to lose if you ought to choose