I don't want to be the filler if the void is solely yours, and
I don't want to be adored for what I merely represent to you
Visiting hours are nine to five and if I show up at ten past six well I
I don't want to be the sweeper of the eggshells that you walk upon and
I don't want to be your glass of single-malt whiskey hidden in the bottom drawer and
I don't want to be your bandage if the wound is not mine
Lend me some fresh air
I don't want to be your babysitter, you're a very big boy now
I don't want to be your mother, I didn't carry you in my womb for nine months
Show me the back door...
already know that you'll find some way to sneak me in and oh
mind the empty bottle with the holes along the bottom you see it's
too much to ask for and I
am not the doctor...
I don't want to be your other half, I believe that one and one make two...
Readin'
Listenin' to
Thinkin' about
Most recently I was 
