|By: They Might Be Giants|
I'm a mess Even at my best I'm dismantling my chances Even as I win A bunch I got tripwires to finesse I'm a mess
Now I ain't right If there's a test tonight I will ask for an extension As I slide my desk A bit Toward the conman dressed in white I ain't right
In fact it's messier still That mess is a hook that drags me along And now that mess has an entourage All dressed in dungarees What went wrong?
I confess And like a chess piece, yes I have rolled under your piano That you don't play A lot But I'm sorry, I digress I'm a mess
So let me out Don't want to be your mouse I want to find a softer spot For my crash landing Not much to talk about Let me out
In fact it's messier still That mess on the loose and leading the mob They march with pitchforks and torches now They have your old ID disavow