It's not a weight you're under it's an ideal; 
 And I cannot be the one to pretend that what you've done is right. 

 Break apart at the edge of all i believe, 
 Pushing words into my mouth until I'm sick over my feet. 
 I grow tired. Tired of calling your name. 
 It's like a winter; a winter that never ends. 
 And it grows in me like a disease. 

 After the war ends I'll be your writer. 
 And if you ride me like a horse, do you break me like a horse? 
 I'm not sleeping, I'm not sleeping, I'm not dreaming. 
 But when I do, I'll [bad word] a bird.