I don't want to be the filler if the void is solely yours
I don't want to be your glass of single malt whiskey
Hidden in the bottom drawer
I don't want to be the bandage if the wound is not mine
Lend me some fresh air
I don't want to be adored for what I merely represent to you
I don't want to be to be your baby-sitter
You're a very big boy now
I don't want to be you mother
I didn't carry you in my womb for nine months
Show me the back door
Chorus:
Visiting hours are 9 to 5 and if I show up at ten past six
Well I already know that you'd find some way to sneak me in and
oh
Mind the empty bottle with the holes along the bottom
you see it's too much to ask for and I'm not the doctor
I don't want to be the sweeper of the eggshells that you walk upon
I don't want to be your other half I believe that 1 and 1 make 2
I don't want to be you food or the light from the fridge on your face
at midnight
Hey what are you hungry for
I don't want to be the glue that holds your pieces together
I don't want to be you idol
See this pedestal is high and I'm afraid of heights
I don't want o be lived through
A vicarious occasion
Please open the window
Repeat Chorus
I don't want to live on someday when my motto is last week
I don't want to be responsible for your fractured heart
and its wounded beat
I don't want to be a substitute for the smoke you've been inhaling
What do you thank me
What do you thank me for
Repeat Chorus
