If I could sleep
I'm sure I'd feel alright tomorrow
But there's something in my mind
That keeps me up
If I could scream
I'm sure I'd feel alright tomorrow
But there's something in my throat
That chokes me up

It's a quarter past eleven
And it's starting to rain
I'm too damn sober
To feel any pain
Don't cry, don't lie, don't say goodbye
Don't ever come home to me

I lost my childhood
In southern Minnesota
I can't recall the movies in my soul
I lost my photographs
Of southern Minnesota
My blacks and whites
Are bitter shades of cold

Tonight you won't call
And you won't come home at all
It's been this way
For seven years of nights
The letter that you wrote
And the last word that you spoke
Have screamed at me
For seven years of nights

If I were you
I'm sure I'd cry through every rain fall
And hide behind the mud thrown in my eyes
I never sleep alone
In any kind of rainfalll
I drink away this fucking need to cry