Running out of breath. Chasing down the big parade. Rising up my hand. Thought I'd beg the marching band to play for me. All of these illusions. They really mean the world to me me. Don't make me out to be this helpless child of misery. Maybe love is what I need. But not your sympathy. In and out of space. I'm always somewhere in between. I try to make commands. But instead I make a mess of things for me. I try paint by numbers. But nothing's black and white to me. Don't make me out to be this helpless child of misery. Maybe love is what I need. But not your sympathy. Nothing and no one can make your lies the truth and no one can stand inside your shoes but you. Don't make me out to be this helpless child misery. Maybe love is what I need. But not your sympathy. But not your sympathy