You're worn out.
I'm worn out.
We're all worn out.
A million days, a thousand years, a house that falls down.
Nothing seem to make a difference anymore, and nothing's such a lonely sound.
Somewhere in the distance feet might find a floor, but it's all worn out.

Here I am Birmingham.
So all worn out.
Dull and void, another box, too small to stand up.
Nothing seems to make a difference anymore, and nothing's such a lonely sound.
Hard from such a distance to kick down the door.
These boots are all worn out.

Found a gun.
Can't melt it down.
Too all worn out.
Time will tell, not very well.
The worst to come, dear.

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