If I can't crawl inside of you,
I'm laughing with a broken face.
I stumble across my self-esteem.
But to picture the pleasure is making me want my space.

Understand
That God wrapped you like a bow.
But in my head
There's some shelves that need cleaning
From basement to ceiling.
Control.
Control.

If what you're seeing is an open book,
That's great 'cause I'm an open book.
But I'm real shy.

Now, there's a part of me seeking
And desperately needing
To open up.
That's strange
'Cause I'm an open book,
A confused boy.

And I'm an automatic steeple
For depressed and lonely people.
My heart, while in its cage,
Give and not receive a thing,
But the only funny thing:
I don't know how to give myself advice.

And I've got this post-traumatic thing.
This tattoo of a ring
Around my wedding finger.
That's where I want to state this claim.
That I've got to learn to live and dream
Before I go and get myself in love.

In love.

Before, before, before I go and get myself in love.

There's Zoloft, Welbutrin,
There's Paxil that's proven.
No side effects.
But the rest left unnamed
'Cause they worked like a charm on me.

But when your saving is drying,
You can't stop from crying.
You've got to suck it up:
You're not her buttercup,
You're not her favorite book.

And I'm an automatic steeple
For depressed and lonely people.
My heart, while in its cage,
Give and not receive a thing,
But the only funny thing:
I don't know how to give myself advice.

And I've got this post-traumatic thing,
This tattoo of a ring
Around my wedding finger.
That's where I want to state this claim.
That I've got to learn to live and dream
Before I go and get myself in love.

In love.

Before, before, before I go and get myself in love.

In love.

Before, before, before I go and get myself in love.