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I write songs about the way I feel
But sometimes I don't feel, other times I feel too much
I don't air my dirty laundry
I wear it out in public when I do shows
But now the laundry room needs some work
Tons of contractors, they give me estimates
And that was such a lousy metaphor
But if I told the truth
It'd all be comin' out like
Ba-ba-ba-da-da-da
Ba-ba-da-da-da
Ba-ba-da-da-da
Ba-ba-da-da
Ba-ba-da-da-da
Ba-ba-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da

Saw at least ten therapists last week
Each one gave me a different form to fill out
And when the therapy's done, what can I expect?
Maybe medication
But in the meantime I seclude myself, I distract myself
Otherwise I'm gonna cry all day
And when the therapy's done, and I'm all cried out
I tried to tell ya'
But it all kept comin' out like
Ba-ba-ba-da-da-da
Ba-ba-da-da-da
Ba-ba-da-da-da
Ba-ba-da-da
Ba-ba-da-da-da
Ba-ba-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da

This bite size help keeps me at bay
But it really only teaches me how to act
When they say it's gonna be okay
They're all, "Marc, it's gonna be okay"
It's like givin' a whale a Tic-Tac

I talked to my daughter on the phone
She was visiting grandma, a.k.a. my mom
Said she found a Donald Duck plush doll
That I once loved when I was her age
I cried because what if I passed the torch?
What if Juliana ends up this fucked up?
And partially because I miss that doll
I wanna cry on it's shoulder
And mutter words that sound like
Ba-ba-ba-da-da-da
Ba-ba-da-da-da
Ba-ba-da-da-da
Ba-ba-da-da
Ba-ba-da-da-da
Ba-ba-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da

This bite size help keeps me at bay
But it really only teaches me how to act
When they say it's gonna be okay
They're all, "Marc, it's gonna be okay"
It's like givin' a whale a Tic-Tac

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