For a chemical imbalance
You sure know how to ride a train
Your revolution is a deathbed
And the music is your maid
When someone comes a-knockin'
With a needle on a tray
Only your lonesome lies beside you
For you told me not to stay

You are somebody's baby
Some mother held you near
No, it's not important
They're just pretty words, my dear
There is no distraction
That can make me disappear
No, there's nothin' that won't remind you
I will always be right here

And you spit the blood back
Spit the blood back, baby
I'm amazed that you're alright
Oh, so long, prison boy
I won't be home with you tonight

We're both very sick
Our muscles all worn down
It's as if we are one-hundred
Know I won't still be around
Because I've fallen, yes, I've fallen
Right into the love I've found
Long before I reach one-hundred
I'll have fallen to the ground

And for generations
They'll romance us, make us more
Or much less than ever was before
The Chelsea and the floor
Make us stand before the masses
Like two speakers for the poor
When there was no revolution
Nothin' we were fightin' for

And you spit the blood back
Spit the blood back, baby
I'm amazed that you're alright
Oh, so long, prison boy
I won't be home, I won't be home
I won't be home with you tonight

And you can call the service bell
When we stay at the Chelsea Hotel
And I'll stay out of my own hell

Oh, so long, prison boy
I won't be home, I won't be home
I won't be home with you tonight
(Tonight)

Copyright: Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Writer(s): Phoebe Lucille Bridgers