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The Drawing Board – The Writer lyrics
Writes me in, from a poison well to the poison pen lying
Paper thin, just a novelty, a walking simile smiling
Chapter one was the beginning of the end, in a race he couldn't win
For a prize he never knew how to love
Sticks and stones are only good for breaking bones and they're awful hard to throw with your head in the sand
Words are his skill as he moves in for the kill and leaves me skewered on his quill in a short hand
He's not a lover or a fighter, he's the writer.
He pulls the strings of everybody's heart down his story arc sliding
The play's the thing, when everything that's real falls short of his idealizing
Well he's settled his vendetta. In a way, and it jumped right off the page
Bound despite the lack of a spine
Sticks and stones are only good for breaking bones and they're awful hard to throw with your head in the sand
Words are his skill as he moves in for the kill and leaves me skewered on his quill in a short hand
Crossing "T"s and dotting ire, he's the writer
Sticks and stones are only good for breaking bones and they're awful hard to throw with your head in the sand
Words are his skill as he moves in for the kill and leaves me skewered on his quill in a short hand
If I'm a thief then he's a liar, he's the writer.
Paper thin, just a novelty, a walking simile smiling
Chapter one was the beginning of the end, in a race he couldn't win
For a prize he never knew how to love
Sticks and stones are only good for breaking bones and they're awful hard to throw with your head in the sand
Words are his skill as he moves in for the kill and leaves me skewered on his quill in a short hand
He's not a lover or a fighter, he's the writer.
He pulls the strings of everybody's heart down his story arc sliding
The play's the thing, when everything that's real falls short of his idealizing
Well he's settled his vendetta. In a way, and it jumped right off the page
Bound despite the lack of a spine
Sticks and stones are only good for breaking bones and they're awful hard to throw with your head in the sand
Words are his skill as he moves in for the kill and leaves me skewered on his quill in a short hand
Crossing "T"s and dotting ire, he's the writer
Sticks and stones are only good for breaking bones and they're awful hard to throw with your head in the sand
Words are his skill as he moves in for the kill and leaves me skewered on his quill in a short hand
If I'm a thief then he's a liar, he's the writer.
Lyrics taken from
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