Sometimes when you're sleeping off the night before

When the record coils and snakes around the run-out groove

And it's just out of rhythm - just out of tune

And in your dream stands a bloodied and frightened child

Who sings "I'm Losing You"

Isn't there something that you were supposed to do?

Mornings when you're throwing up the night before

When the wind is howling murder behind your eyes

And you can't find your balance - you can't find your feet

And the wall on the bathroom is littered with words

They say "I'm losing you"

Isn't there something that you were supposed to do?

Maybe there's something you want to share with the rest of the class?

Maybe there's something crawling underneath your skin

That maybe will pass

Or maybe you're not coming back

Handwriting that you can't recognize as your own

Sloppy, scary, like the homework done on the bus

Dodging insults and grabbing hands

For your jacket and tie, for your pencils and books

But you were a boy then; now you're a man

So tell me: what is this memory? What is this song:

"I'm Losing You?"

And isn't there something that you were supposed to do

Maybe there's something you want to share with the rest of the class?
Maybe there's something crawling underneath your skin

That maybe will pass

Or maybe you're not coming back

I woke up today to see the sky was black

With birds who were flying south, and never coming back

And I was alone for a month in a row

And - try as I might - I just couldn't see any sign of that

Feeling changing. So: