There's a fine line between life and death
and my world is hanging on that thread/threat.
Tiptoeing the line, I'm such a lousy acrobat.
And the umbrella in my hand is full of holes.
Oh if it rained,
if the clouds decided to humiliate me more,
not only would I fall
Fall.
I'd be soaking wet.
Wet.
Like my face and my shoes,
I'm such a picturebook tragedy,
hair's a mess, heart's all torn.
Walking a fine line between
Right and Wrong.
Wrong.
Such a patronizing word.
Oh, what's wrong, love,
oh what's wrong.
And if I sigh and tell you "everything",
nothing's right.
Would you have the power to fix me anyway?
Oh what's wrong, love.
What's wrong?
The red button's been pushed,
the emergency signal's on a loop,
I'm an acrobat losing balance.
What's wrong,
well nothing's right.
What's wrong?
Well, nothing's right.
