Weary Progress Songtext / Lyric

It was a nervous little shudder, I was thinking of
my mother, I was making up excuses, I was sorry,
sore, no intimacy.
Cradlecap and funny sports and thin.
I miss my daughter's breath.
What really sticks it in are the cold sports in the
bed.
Like everybody in the world, I want to be
misunderstood.
Likable, creepy, underrated, braggart, busy, really
good.
It's weary progress.
I yell, I get frustrated, I scream.
Drunk brother painting bare rooms.
Christmas trees are scary things at 2 a.m and
foolish lips are all the way in Boston, but they're
sounding pretty good.
Like everybody in the world, I want to be
misunderstood.
Likable, creepy, underrated, braggart, busy, really
good.
It's weary progress.