Making mountains out mole of hills, taking fountains past their fill.
Making mountains out mole of hills, and making me want to kill.
One more problem, how you've got them.
All tied up with a million things to do.
Two more problems, how I've got them.
One is some else.
Two is you.
I hate that it has to come to this so fast.
How else will we know if we will last
Every wonder, every question, every thing that I'm not so sure is real.
Every funny look, every stop and stare, every doubt in my mind that you still
care.
I hate that it came to this so fast.
How else could I know if we would last
Making mountains.
Taking fountains.
Shaking ground with tiny problems.
|
Switch to English 
