Mentioning anything about myself makes me uncomfortable.
Outer-space is much less personal,
Even if some find it dull.
I tried to write myself an escape vessel
To never be a part of this world, but to no avail
I can't even feign what my brain tries to say to me.
I wish that it would stop trying to multitask and take half a decade off
The line that defines whether I find something fine or terrible
Is near invisible and incomprehensible.
And I don't know why I do or don't think someone is someone reasonable,
Because you're not all that feasible, though nonetheless really cool.
CHORUS
| 1 | Mr. Menutia |
| 2 | I Spilled My Brain |
| 3 | Transform to Milkshakes |
| 4 | She Gave Me Water |
| 5 | Why Anyone Would |
| 6 | The Fine, pts. 1 & 2 |
| 7 | Guts |
| 8 | Melancholy |
| 9 | Safire Wants Gold |
| 10 | First Photos |