Me and my big ideas. Won't wash away your tears. No one else seems to mind. That I'm not that kind. Go get a volunteer. We'll pay him well my dear. He will see inside your mind. Because he is that kind. It's a southern kind of heat. The shadows crack and start to creep. Conversation drag its feet. I wish we'd both been more discret. Like light that it caught between night and day. You're stuck between me and my. Me and my big ideas. Won't wash away your tears. No one else seems to mind. That I'm not that kind. Well they love you when you're weak. Bet they hate you to see this winning streak. It's that thing we call control. There's a deep frustration. Black thoughts. That are stuck between someone's ears. Like me and my big idea. So many strings to your bow. Why not let one go. In a way this dream is over. Blown away our four leaf clover. There's no reason why. There's just me and my. Me and my big ideas. Won't wash away your tears. No one else seems to mind. That I'm not that kind.