Sprained Ankle - Dashboard Confessional

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 a microphone, breaking my voice

Whenever I’m alone with you, can’t talk but

«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

A marathon runner, my ankles are sprained