Testo Three Month Weekend

it's a Thursday morning, four a.m.and you won't let me goif tomorrow comes i'll guess i'll never knoweven in the darkest hour it's the brightest tiem of dayeven when i go to bed i'm still awakeeyes held up with toothpicks and my jaw is going offi will never leave you or admit that i was wrongthere's so many things i'd like to sayi'm foaming at the mouthmaybe i could writemy pen is hollowed outi've got ideas and inventionsand i'd use them if i couldstop waking up the next daywhen they're all no goodplease don't say another word iknow your story wellconversations take two but i'm talking to myselfnow i need an alibiand everything i did was truebut every word i said was just a lie