Verse Wish I could write songs about anything other than death But I can't go to bed without drawing the red, shaving off breaths Each one so heavy, each one so cumbersome Each one a lead weight hanging between my lungs Spilling my guts, sweat on the microphone Breaking my voice whenever I'm alone with you Can't talk, "Isn't this weather nice? Are you okay?" Should I go somewhere else and hide my face? A sprinter learning to wait A marathon runner, my ankles are sprained
Refrain A marathon runner, my ankles are sprained
Sprained Ankle – Dashboard Confessional
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