Sand The Microphones
I'd like to beli[C]eve,[G]
[F]In one thing that you [C]say to [G]me.
[C]Would you like, to [G]leave?
[F]When I try to t[G]alk it [C]off,
[G]Just turns out to [C]be.
[Am]Turn on the [C]stove,
In the [G]little tiny rooms that our fri[F]end calls a [C]home.
[Am]My head fills with [C]heat,
[G] [F]
I'd like to understand,
What you think about and why it seems so bad.
It's only escape,
Know that I'm sad.
Turn on the stove,
In the little tiny rooms that our friend calls a home.
My head fills with heat,
Sand.
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