New August - Obits

Morning is coming

Why can’t you come straight to me

If all of this means nothing

If I have no memory

Of all the things I used to do

Don’t look like they’re dead before

Self, medication

Don’t seem to improve my station, now

So tired

Tired of my dreams

So tired

Tired of my dreams

So tired

Tired of my dreams

So tired

Tired of my dreams

They keep me up

All night

All night

All night

All night

Yeah