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Elliott Smith
Elliott Smith (1995)

Here in line where stupid shit collides
With dying shooting stars
All we got to show what we really are
Is the same kind of scars
And looking at you, all I see is
You're waiting for something

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You're a murder mile
You idiot kid
Your arm's got a death in it

Mmm...

If you're choking up, take this paper cup
But there's a price that you'll pay
For trying hard to become whatever they are
And saying whatever they say
So help yourself to this bitter pill
Or somebody else will

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You were murdered by
You idiot kid
Your arm's got a death in it

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