Mother was waiting on me to get better so she could come down All along the dizzy spells were superscript for loving you And casting you out We move along like analog tapes that sing without making sound Cartographer who thinks about what he wants to think about About When I lay flat enough in bed the room around me starts spinning I'm casting to orbit around you and how your voice sounds When your monotone thoughts become colorful words The map inside you is dying to be heard I will listen What is it that you wanted to say Leaving my apartment that day I miss you, and I'm sorry But I hate you for the way that you loved me I draw things I don't want to draw I write things I don't want to write My hands are tired all the time From doing what the map in me likes I'm just doing what the map in me likes I'm just doing what the map in me likes I'm just doing what the map in me likes I'm just doing what the map in me wants