I wrote you a letter
You said that you couldn't have said it better
I know that I'm too much
But I was hoping that you would read it and put it in your box
I don't know if I can write again
Or fly again
Or cry again for you
It's all too much
Just hush
There's a carousel of conspiracies and lies
Behind my eyes
You don't have to tell me that I'm too much
But also not enough
I know what I am
A bag of sand, just a bag of sand
No one can see the shape I'm in
I'm wearing thin
This bag of sand is slipping through your hands
I'm afraid to eat
I guess that's how Schubert felt before he died
Inside our minds, we're quite alike
He and I