No Parachutes - Throwing Muses

Pushing a ribcage

Makes it hard to breathe

And yet we hold our sweaty hands

Year after year

Some new year

Without music in our head

Newspaper tenement coming up dead

So my paracute is hanging around

I guess I bust it on the ground

Nothing helps me fall

Nothing helps me float

Today I want to walk away

Pushing a ribcage

Makes it hard to breathe

And yet we whisper in the dark

Year after year

Some new year

Without newness in our head

Newspaper tenement coming up dead

So my paracute is hanging around

I guess I bust it on the ground

Nothing helps me fall

Nothing helps me float

Today I want to walk away