we used to dream about girls who played guitar

All of this black ink is staining my hands.
None of the maps I've drawn work,
I don't know where I am.
These lines aren't straight enough,
they bend in the wrong directions
and I'm never where I want to be.

My fingerprints are smudging the mirror.
The glass is all cracked,
I can't see who I am.
These lights aren't bright enough,
they leave too many shadows
and I'm never what I want to be.

listening to: mardy bum - the arctic monkeys