The brokenhearted break their bones up into bread
Then ball it up and stuff it in the holes in the sides of their heads
To stop the sound you stop the source
Or is it the other way around?
To stop the source you stop the sound

My bones are brittle
And I'm a little dry at the joints between them
Pushing the choke in my throat down
I told you I'd go down
But you don't know, you never know

The open hearted make such a mess of themselves
The emptyhanded are pulling all the sparks right out from under their wheels
To stop, to stop, to throw off course
Of course i know how easy for all those
Who need and take and go

My bones are brittle
And I'm a little tired of sitting and getting fat
We all should close up
If we are sealing up enough
Then we are feeling nothing
Feeling nothing
Feeling nothing