I'm mad at it for my face, the usefulness of distractions, for always wanting to keep me still. No matter how far I were to run it would not be all of half of the time spent with you—chasing something new. It was about growing old Now it's about how not to burn it all up. Your inbetweens do no good here. I think it's time to let on go. I think it's time to let on go. It's time. I'll never be your kind of angel