It's eight in the morning

I'm reading the lines on the pavement

I don't know where the hell last night gone

I came here to listen

But you took me straight to hell

And buried me behind the wishing well

Could have been the Firelines

Or the fact that I'm scared

Could've been the weight outside

That caught me unaware

And buried me with the things I couldn't share

It's late in the day and

There're reading my rights at the station

I don't know to whom these things belong

These things come to try us and test our caution shells

And bury us behind the wishing well

Could have been the Firelines

Or the fact that I'm scared

Could've been the weight outside

That caught me unaware

And buried me with the things I couldn't share

Now bury me with the things I wouldn't share